The Swap
by Fee-tan
Summary: Rosalie was forced by her friend to watch The Phantom of the Opera. As she does what she's told, she literally gets completely absorbed in the story. Erik/OC Based on the 2004 movie. Will include Leroux aspects.
1. Chapter 1

**The Swap**

**Act I**

**Chapter 1: In which I keep my hand at the level of my eyes**

As a matter of fact I didn't even know anything about the lonely soul of the Phantom of the Opera before yesterday, when Caitlin made me watch the film, saying it was the best thing since chocolate. And chocolate is sacred to us, as it is to most people.

I had never heard of the Phantom's story. Because, well, I lived under a rock. I didn't know much about _things, _aside of the stuff that interested me. Like philosophy, books, religion and music. Not all music, though. My friends even called me Patrick , as a reference to that adorably stupid starfish. I didn't mind it much. Because, well, they were right. And I really liked Patrick. His philosophy was quite interesting.

My introduction to the opera ghost was that 2004 film. Which, according to Cate, was _the best_. That was the way she had literally told me over the phone.

"Why we have never talked about this before is beyond me, " I said surprised. Apparently, the Phantom meant a great deal to her.

"I have, you just forgot about it. In your usual Patrick manner."

"Sorry," I said guiltily, cursing my way of spacing out. I knew Cate didn't mind it much, but I could have just listened a bit more to my friend, right?

"It's okay, as long as you finally go and watch it! Gerard Butler is so dreamy." She let out a sigh before hanging up. I shook my head. Boy crazy Cate.

I made sure my annoying elder brother Simon was upstairs gaming, so he wouldn't disturb me, before starting the film. I was curious to see the other side of the This-is-Sparta man.

By the time the opera house was restored into its old glory I was intrigued. When the masked figure started singing about the music of the night I was entranced. At the moment Christine showed the world the Phantom's disfigurement I wanted to slap her. And when the rose was seen on miss Daaé's grave a dark heavy feeling came over me. I let out a deep sigh.

It had all been so dark. It had all been so cruel.

I really understood why Caitlin loved this story so much that she had watched all versions and read all the books about it that existed.

I skipped back to one particular scene I had liked. The phantom's voice filled the candlelit room, entrancing Christine. And me. It was hard not to become entranced by it, really. I watched it again, again and again, until the Opera Ghost's voice became my lullaby.

I was roughly shaken back into consciousness. My first guess was that Simon wanted me to get off the laptop so he could use it.

"Fuck off, you stupid idiot," I groaned, still half asleep. It only resulted into me getting shaken even harder. I found it strange my brother hadn't scolded me yet, like he normally would.

"For God's sake, Simon. Go sleep or something. Just leave me alone." I tried to find his hands to break free. They were awfully forceful for Simon's. Just what was his deal today? I opened my eyes, annoyed to be woken up from my sleep.

"Didn't I tell you so many times to not disturb my slumber," I said.

I was in a …. cave? No, not a cave, but pretty close. There were a lot of candles and mirrors. Curtains and an organ. Papers were spread everywhere. It had the same messiness of my room, only with a lot more charm. And less dangerous piles of books.

Two gloved hands were just letting go off my shoulders. I was struck by two fierce eyes glaring daggers at me, one of them behind a half mask. The man was also wearing a cloak He looked like he was going to scream at me. However, before he said anything, I, with my still sleepy head, made the most intelligent remark.

"_You_ are not Gerard Butler." The second those words left my lips I wanted to bite my tongue off.

"I am not _Simon_ either, " the man shouted, no, _spat_, at me. This conversation was so bizarre. Scratch that, this whole situation was bizarre.

_Caitlin, this is the last time I watch any of your recommended films. _

"Sir, I'm so sorry. This must have been a terrible mistake." I got up out of- wait, was this the swan bed?- oh yes it was the swan bed. Just how had this happened? No, now was not the time for these questions.

"Yes, I think so too." The Phantom did not at all look amused. And he was getting closer by the second. I took a few steps back.

_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes. _For once, my mind was being useful, so I did as I thought and brought my hand to the level of my eyes.

"I don't actually know how I got here," I rambled on, hoping the crazy dude in the cloak would actually listen to a word I said.

"That's not what matters to me. What did you do to Christine?" He looked really concerned now. And even angrier. I continued backing away and using the chandeliers as some sort of shield. Like Christine had done.

Christine was the reason the Phantom was angry in the first place. Now that I mention it, Christine was always the reason why the opera ghost was angry. If you didn't count the traumatic past. I got so absorbed in the conversation I lowered my hand.

"I really don't know where she is. I wish I did, because in that case you wouldn't be here scaring the hell out of me," I said in another attempt to reason with him. It failed.

"Mademoiselle, you expect me to believe this with her gone and you being the only lead I have to her. " He looked ready to Punjab me. That was proven by the fact he was standing next to me in one swift movement. He grabbed my arm and got very close to me.

"Christine seems not an unknown person to you. So, tell me, what did you do to her?" I let out a small whimper when he squeezed my arm painfully hard, knowing he would be ready to do a lot more than that. Especially when it came to Christine. One of the Phantom's hands was reaching for something inside of his cloak.

"I know who Christine Daaé is, but doesn't everyone since _Hannibal_? I know little else about her, I swear. She-" I had his full attention now. At least he was not reaching for the magical lasso anymore. He eagerly gestured for me to continue.

"She told me to come here. Not Chirstine, but the servant girl of the Vicomte. Really, he told me to take a look inside the lair. He sent me, you see, because he was too afraid to go himself, and because I know a way to open doors. I use my fingers. And when I got here, it was dark and you were entranced by your organ. By the time you noticed something was wrong, Christie had already gone off." The Phantom snorted. I knew my tale didn't make sense at all and that the phantom was way too smart to believe it.

"And why would I believe you?" I tried my most innocent face.

"I am here right now and miss Daaé is not." He glared at me.

"No she isn't. Which I why you shall be my hostage until she returns and does exactly as she is told. Surely, the guilt will make her come back."

"If she had felt that guilty about it she wouldn't have left me here in the first place." I was surprised by how sour my voice sounded. Especially when it was all one big lie. The real Christine would've probably started crying, making the phantom aware of my presence here, before I could have even convinced her to run away.

"How appropriately do you remind me. Why did she leave you here?" His tone was a commanding one, not an inquiring one. He was towering above me, but he had given me some personal space again. Which I appreciated. He had also refrained from taking out his good ol' Punjab.

"To distract you, to give her a bit of extra time. You know my hair _does_ seem brown in this light." What the hell, how could I even begin talking about my appearance in this situation. My weirdness was greater than I had even thought.

"You must not be of a very high importance to the Changy family if they would leave you like this. But for Christine you would be enough." I could see it in his eyes that he was picturing her face and I knew instantly that the image in his head was as sharp any picture my brother's Nikon camera could make.

"I am but a servant girl," and a soon to be famous philosopher, mind you. If I would ever get out of here, that was.

"But you will serve the Changy family no longer. Until Christine pleads for your life, you will serve no one but me." I sighed. I could see it already, in that crazy expression which was partially hidden by a mask. I would become the marionette of the Phantom of the Opera. A man of whose existence I hadn't even been aware until yesterday.

This was going to be just wonderful.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello there!

This is a try-out for a PhantomxOC phanfic. Recently I have been obsessed with The Phantom of the Opera. I have only seen the 2004 and 1990 movies. I have bought the original novel, but I haven't read it yet. Basically, this phic will follow - or rather, mess up- the 2004 plot. There might also be hints of the 1990 one.

I am curious for you thoughts on this chapter,for it is my first phanfic. I don't know if this will continue or not, for I am a very inconsistent author. Partially because of a busy life, partially because of laziness. Please leave a review!

~Fee-tan


	2. Chapter 2

**The Swap**

**Chapter 2: In which I suck at lying**

'Serving him' wasn't as easy as the Phantom had made it sound. For one, he was _never _pleased. I was quite sure he suffered from hosophobia, because no matter how thoroughly I tried to clean things, he would always complain because of just a little speck of dust.

Why would dust even matter when your whole place was a chaos anyway. Really, he left all his papers laying around. His instruments were just spread among the floor. Not to mention the freaking suet on the floor, which I had to clean, of course. Sometimes I wondered if that Opera Ghost just let all those candles burn to torture me. I had always had this childish fear of matches, lighters, fireworks and anything else on which you could get burned. In the summer I was always scared to get sunburned. So staying in a place with so many candles was not exactly something I enjoyed. Happy times.

Mister Phantom never really spoke to me, but he sure as hell always made his presence known. When I was peacefully asleep in the beautiful swan bed –surprisingly enough he let me use it- enjoying my rest after a day of hard work, I had been unpleasantely awoken by that madman banging away on his organ. I had nearly scolded him for being a brain-dead idiot, but in time realised that would not be such a good idea.

When he wasn't making his presence known –or marking his natural habitat, as I called it in my mind- he was just randomly going somewhere. At least, that was how I saw, because the Opera Ghost wouldn't even think about discussing his plans with me. I guessed he was probably busy searching for Christine and leaving notes, although I had no idea what was going to happen now that Christine as gone. It was strange to think that the whole story might go a lot differently.

Speaking of her, where had she gone anyway? Why wasn't she here? Those questions had haunted my mind for the past couple of days and since I was here and Christine wasn't, I could only think of one possible explanation.

He had traded places. I was here and she was probably in the real world. If it even was the real world.

I had no idea what was real anymore. All I knew is that the Phantom's lair and the Phantom of the Opera himself seemed very real to me.

However, apart from the fact that he was using me to get Christine back, he seemed to ignore my existence completely. As if I wasn't really human enough to really count in his world, made out of music. I didn't actually try hard to speak with the man behind the mask either, because every time I made as much as a sound, he would look at me with those piercing eyes of his, which reminded me of a rope that could embrace my neck if I wasn't careful.

One day, while mister Phantom was going on a secret mission again –"Don't you dare touch my instruments while I am gone!" – I gave in to the temptation which had been plaguing me from day one. The Phantom of the Opera Populaire had a fine collection of books, which also contained several books about philosophers. I had seen Aristotle's name from the corner of my eye, and one day, when I had been dusting off the shelves, I had also seen one of Spinoza's forbidden works. At least, it used to be forbidden. Epicurus had been present to, just like Plato and Immanuel Kant. I decided to read Epicurus, since he was my favourite out of the bunch.

"_As long as we exist, death is not here. And once it does come, we no longer exist_."

I sighed. Those words were already imprinted in my mind, but I always had the urge to read them, again and again. They were in the foundation of my soul. Who knew these words, knew my heart. At that moment, all alone –with a disturbingly large amount of candles- those words were the only thing familiar.

Not a moment did I consider going out on my own. It wouldn't work anyway. I didn't know the way out and I could easily become a victim of one of those traps. The Opera Ghost apparently didn't believe my story completely, because he left me here alone, without even worrying about me going off on my own. The fact I stayed put only proved I had told a lie. I hadn't come here on my own by using my fingers to open the door to Christine's room and following the path behind the mirror. In fact I had no idea how I had gotten here at all. But I knew one thing, the masked individual couldn't keep me here for ever. Okay, maybe he could, but I was quite sure he _wouldn't _keep me in his lair forever. He seemed to me like a man too keen on his privacy to have stranger roaming around in his natural habitat all the time. Especially a stranger he didn't trust. He had decided to wait until Christine would speak up, but that would take a century. If it would ever happen at all. Christine Daaé could've just been thrown out by my hysteric mother after she had realized I had disappeared in the middle of nowhere. While reading about Epicurus and hedonism, I grinned at the mental image of Christine roaming the streets of the modern world like a hobo. My thoughts always flew in every possible direction like that.

I had walked form the cupboard back to the swan bed and seated myself there comfortably. Now that the owner of said bed was gone, I could at least move around without feeling watched all the time. I had mysteriously enough even worn Christine's nightgown up until now. Monsieur had not given me any clothes. Well, maybe I should praise myself lucky for that. It would have been quite weird if he owned women's clothes. Another thing I praised myself lucky for was the fact that there was not a sign of the creepy Christine wax doll in the movie. While cleaning up I had secretly been looking for it, if only to break the monotony of every day. Or night for that matter, it was impossible to tell what time it was down in the lair.

"_But down in the underground_

_You'll find someone true_

_Down in the underground_

_A land serene"_

I liked singing when I was all alone. And the David Bowie song fitted my vocal range, not to mention the place I was currently trapped in. It truly was serene here in Monsieur le Fantôme's absence, if you didn't count the fear the candles gave me. I just hoped he wouldn't hear me sing, because he was quite picky about music and would probably get all upset if he didn't like my song, or the way I was singing it. He already had enough reasons not to treat me like an actual person as it was.

Oh well, I was quite sure people had been treated worse by the Opera Ghost.

When I was done reading I put the book back exactly at the place where it had been standing. It had been four hours since Mister Opera had left and I was starting to get hungry. Most of the time when left, he would come back with food. Maybe today I would ask him if he could bring some clothes for me. I was getting sick of walking around in Christine's nightgown all the time. Especially since the Phantom had been giving it some nasty looks.

Water splashed in the distance. I heard a male's voice groaning. That was Monsieur all right. I got up in the usual tense pose that came naturally to me whenever the Opera Ghost was present. However, this time he came in stumbling over his own legs, his cloak in tatters and his left hand pressing his shoulder. His face was red and sweaty . He was trying desperately not to look at me.

He was obviously in pain. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"What happened?" I asked without thinking. I got ignored completely. The Phantom was now focussing on getting his ass on the swan bed, still struggling on his way. I ran towards him and hesitantly offered him my hand, after I had tor his cloak of and thrown in on the ground. He regarded me suspiciously before sighing and accepting my hand. He was heavier than I had initially thought. He also was feverishly warm. The Opera Ghost's hand left his shoulder, now that it was around my shoulder for support, and I saw the shoulder was covered in blood. His white, old fashioned shirt had been cut open. Had he fought?

By the time the Opera Ghost had collapsed on the bed I was anxiously trying to find out what to do next. That wound should be taken care of, but how? Should the bleeding be stopped first? Should it get disinfected? I wasn't really the most practical person out there. In the end I decided to do that thing they always did in the movies. Rip the nightgown. It was actually my pleasure to do so. As I said, I had gotten sick of the thing. It had become all stinky.

"What do you think you are doing," said the Opera Ghost while watching me, his partially covered face not hiding his annoyance.

"I am trying to help you. And you are being quite ungrateful for it. Do you have something to clean _that_?" I said, pointing at the wound, trying to sound self-assured.

"That nightgown belonged to someone else, and now you have ruined it. There is water over there." He pointed in the direction of a bucket I had somehow missed in my usual manner of living under a rock. I rushed towards it, dipping the cloth in the water. When I wanted to press the wet cloth against the Phantom's shoulder, he grabbed my wrist, snatched the cloth out of my fingers and did it himself. Was he seriously too proud a man to even let someone take care of him when he was badly hurt? Or was he just not used to it.

Taking his warning glare into consideration, it was either both of the first one.

"Have it your way then. Make it harder for both of us. Like it already wasn't hard enough," I said exasperatedly, the shock of his wound finally getting to me. I had never seen blood like that. It frightened me even more than fire did. I didn't care he had just now glared at me. He was too weak to be a threat to me right now anyway. Stupid guy had kept me here, and now he was badly hurt. I should have rejoiced in it, too.

But he had fed me for the past few days, and for that I was grateful, even if he wasn't the best company.

The Phantom was quiet for a while, before he began speaking with a soft voice.

"How long have you been working for the Changy family?" _I am so very sorry I treated you like crap, Rosalie, I promise it won't happen again. _That was what I wanted to hear. Not an opportunity to tell more lies.

"Just about as long as I have been kept here, actually," I said carefully, my back facing him now. I walked towards the Phantom's cloak, which was still on the floor, and picked it up, shook it and hung it over one of his extravagantly decorated chairs.

"Is there any chance you could fetch some new clothes for me when your wound is healed? It doesn't have to be a dress, I would be just as happy with trousers, as long as I don't have to wear this nightgown anymore." Maybe this would distract him.

"Have you ever met the Vicomte?" I felt his eyes were studying me. My tense pose returned.

"No, not in person." Where was he going with this?

"Has he… done anything to you?" I turned around, my eyes nearly popping out.

"I just said I never met him, didn't I? And just what do you mean by that?" My astonished stare was met by his interrogating one.

"You know perfectly well what I am inquiring after, mademoiselle." I sighed.

"I am just have quite a lot of trouble realizing you really asked me that, while I had so clearly stated that I never even met Raoul de Changy."

"I wanted to be certain," he said, gritting his teeth. I knew very well why he was interrogating me about Raoul. He wanted to know better what kind of man it was that had set his eyes upon his beloved Christine.

"Just have some rest. You won't gain any new information by asking me about things I can't possibly know." A heavy sigh escaped from the lips of the mask individual.

"You are a completely useless little girl, torturing me with your ridiculous comments." I frowned. I tortured _him_?

"And yet you keep me here," I argued, my voice expressing slight accusation. The Phantom snorted. His eyes studying the ceiling.

"Maybe I should keep you here no longer. I should have you wandering underground and wait for you to fall in one of my traps. I am actually surprised you survived on the way towards my lair. And that you didn't bring anyone with you."

"Somehow, I have gained an idea," I said. Did I dare smirk? Monsieur regarded me suspiciously.

"You don't-"

"I am merely joking." He was still frowning, unsure what to think of it. Couldn't even take a damn joke.

"Nobody told me how to get here, I was just commanded to try. It wouldn't be a drama if I wouldn't come back, you know. I was just a guinea pig." The real Raoul would never send a servant out, but he didn't have to know that. I just had to come up with some explanation.

"You have been quite successful," he said, musing, watching me from the corner of his eye.

"I have been quite lucky, actually," I answered. Suddenly, I gained yet another idea.

"I nearly got stuck in one of your traps." His head turned towards me with the speed of a piranha swimming towards its prey.

"Which one?" Oh god.

"The, eh, the one with the things." _Real smooth, Rosalie, real smooth. _The Opera Ghost's mouth opened, ready to say something.

"The one with the Punjab of course!" I said quickly. That was a safe guess, considering his preference for the damn strangling rope.

"Surely it was. Where?" Damn it, he was good at this.

"I can't actually remember. It was quite dark."

"To be sure," he remarked. I had no idea what he meant by that. It was quite evident he didn't believe me.

"You also go and get some rest." He slowly got up from the swan bed. He was still shaky, but he managed to stay on his feet.

"Shouldn't you stay in bed?" _Just who are you taking me for? _His glare seemed to say. I shrugged.

"All right, thank you." I dived into the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. When I was already in a state of half-sleep, a cruel voice from the other side of the lair disturbed me.

"I will fetch you some clothes tomorrow." I swear he was grinning for just a split second when he saw my annoyed face.

* * *

She was asleep now, luckily. He had not been lying when he had stated that she tortured him, with her constant remarks and questions, her endless presence in his domain. Her hair as red as the fires in hell and her eyes silver as the moonlight, constantly watching him, it seemed. They seemed to hold a reproach in them. A reproach which was, as he knew deep down, just.

It seemed as if it was against all laws and habits that this girl was here, asleep in the swan bed. He had left Christine there a few nights ago, and this girl which appeared to come straight from hell had come out, telling him some fairy tale about being a servant of the Changy family. Of course the Opera Ghost didn't believe a word the redhead had told him, but it had been amusing to see her bluff her way out of his interrogation. But not amusing enough not to want her to leave as soon as possible.

The only one who was allowed to come here, just for the pleasure of her company was Christine Daaé. And at this point, the Phantom of the Opera was sure that would never change.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Swap**

**Chapter 3: In which ****_she _****does not think of ****_him_**

The first time I had opened my eyes in this completely new enivronment I had been terrified, because of the memories of mist that came to my mind. However, I saw no face in the shadows, or a boat. No, I had awoken in an even stranger room than the one in which I had fallen asleep –or rather, fainted.

There had been piles of books everywhere, and a strange sculpture of a famous Greek person whose name I had forgotten. Soon, the room had been opened by a lady who appeared to be in her fifties, who had let out a loud shriek, startling me even more.

When the lady threatened to push me out of her house, ignoring my pleads, a kind looking gentleman stepped into the room, calming the lady who turned out to be his mother, and giving me a most gentle smile. A gentleness I had quite missed.

The gentlman with the preference for strange devices was very kind to me. Although I had not a clue as to what had happend, I found the man calmed me with his mere presence.

Everything in this new place seemed faster and more hetctic. I had to learn how to use certain objects from scratch, and when I found out what year it was I shrieked and nearly fainted, only to find Monsieur Simon steadying me.

He had a way of teasing me, and altough I never really understood his jokes, his sweet eyes brought a smile to my lips.

In the next few days, I found myself looking out more and more for the gentleman –who appeared to have a preference for a most peculiar appliance, one of which I believe, he called a 'Playstation'. I longed for his smile and reassuring words, for I was terrfiied to be left alone in this strange world.

Monsieur Simon had shown me the outside world, which I could only describe as something one would see in a fever dream.

To my shame, I have to admit he made every thought of Raoul, or the mysterious masked individual who had abducted me, vanish.

I slept in the room that had once belonged to his sister, who had strangely dissappeared at the same time I had appeared. The lady of the house didn't talk to me often, but I undertood that. After all, I, Christine Daaé, knew very well what it was to lose a person you hold dear.

* * *

I woke up alone the next morning. As always since the day I came here, I was surprised not to be in my room. I even found myself asking where my Aristotle sculpture was.

Before realising I was the hostage of a dude who lived underneath an opera house and was obsessed with music. That, and he liked killing people with a magical lasso. Fuck my life.

Perhaps, I found myself thinking - or rather, hoping- he had already took of. To fetch me some clothes, as promised. I was so totally unprepared for what I would find.

I removed the thin curtain which was supposed to shelter me from the candlelight –once again I wondered why the hell the Opera Ghost even let me use this bed, when he didn't even like me- and left my bed.

If I would have seen something white laying on the ground, I wouldn't have dared look. But I didn't, so I saw it.

It honestly wasn't as bad as they said, but it wasn't gorgeous.

To be honest, the other side of the Opera Ghost's face was hideous as fuck. But it wasn't the face of a demon, or a devil's child. It was just the face of a man. A deformed face, but still a human face. And considering the fact that the Opera Ghost was now asleep, and not awake and yelling at me, I liked his facial expression right now much better. Even if it wasn't exactly the prettiest sight I had ever seen.

Strangely, I realised because of the strong contrast between the two, how handsome the other side of Monsieur's face was. If I wasn't so afraid of the Phantom waking up and accusing me of throwing his treasured mask on the ground I would have giggled at my own thoughts.

I wondered how the half mask had fallen of. It was secured from behind. Maybe Monsieur had had a rough night.

"Dreaming about Christine now, weren't we, " I muttered, before sneeking towards the mask as fast as I could. I gently picked it up, terrified of the thought of what would happen if Monsieur le Fantôme would find his mask in my hand. The next step was going to be the most difficult one. Slowly, I tiptoed towards the Phantom, who was sleeping on something that was not quite like a mattress. Taking a deep breath as silent as I could, I stretched the cord behind the mask and placed it once again on his face.

I did not dare move for five minutes, before slowly backing away. When I was standing –as I measured myself- within safe distance from Monsieur, I studyed him. Would I have hidden my face like that if I would have been him? The time in which he lived was not exactly tolerant towards people like him, but was hiding it really the right thing?

The face didn't make the person. But then again, after I had watched _The Phantom of the Opera, _I had come to the hypothesis that just maybe, the Opera Ghost _let _his face make his person.

A loud groan was heard from the direction of said person and for a moment I wondered if he had somehow heard my thoughts.

He slowly got up. His bedhead hair, which was, just like Gerard's, black as the night. His white, loose, shirt revealed half of his chest. That was probably not the apropriate way to dress in this era. Still, I had been wearing a nightgown this whole time. Which I wanted to rip off my body as soon as possible. That sounded kinda wrong.

Even I couldn't resist staring at the Phantom's exposed chest for a bit.

_Hot damn, must be all the rowing whenever he leaves his lair. _

Monsieur, now awake and cheerfull as ever, decided to take that as another insult and gave me a look. Maybe stares alone reminded him of his face. He definitely let his face define him.

I yawned, a bit used to his demeanor now.

"So, Monsieur Sunshine, had a nice dream?" He looked ready to throw opera scrolls at me.

"Never mind, don't answer that. Could you at least tell my what happened yesterday? And perhaps if there is any chance of that repeating anytime soon. At least I will be prepared if you do. By the way, I just realised we haven't even introduced ourselves toe ach other yet, while I have been staying here for nearly a week. My name is Rosalie." I gave him a somewhat twisted smile. The Phantom rubbed his temples.

"I only just woke up and you decided to tire me with your endless curiousity." He strode towards a cupboared and poured himself something that seemed to be congac.

"Well, you don't take me outside, so I can't actually know everything." He should have been surprised I even cared about his well-being. Stupid jerk.

"I am not taking you outside because you are my hostage. You would have only helped that fop to stab me, so-"

"STAB YOU?" I shouted without thinking. The Phantom dropped his glass, gave me a murderous look and ran towards me. I quickly used the candelabra as a shield, like last time.

"Watch your tone mademoiselle. I might have tolerated your presence and endless quiestions. But don't forget. I _am _the Phantom of the Opera. I have sinned more times than you can imagine and I have _enjoyed _it." He stood next to me within the blink of an eye. A finger in a black glove lightly touched my neck. Two eyes –strangly, despite my fear I was surprised at their vibrant golden colour- displayed an absolute loathing. Strangely, that hate hurt me the most.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, mademoiselle," he whispered. His intense voice made me shiver.

"Oh, and regarding your name. It doesn't quite suit you."

By the time he had left to –finally- get me some new clothes I was still shaking. Even Epicurus, Aristotle or Plato couldn't calm me now.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Swap**

Chapter 4: In which I hear ghosts

I wasn't able to do anything after witnessing the anger of the Phantom of the Opera. I was cold and lonely, and far from home. Monsieur's curious company and the presence of books had kept me busy, but now I realised how dangerous and hopeless my situation was. There were traps out there, so I couldn't leave this place. I couldn't calm myself. I couldn't turn this situation around in my mind, which I usually did. It scared me.

For some reason I was also still quite worried about Monsieur's injury. He had clearly said 'that fop' from which I deduced that he meant Raoul.

And when Monsieur fought with Raoul, it could only be about one thing. Or rather, person.

Everything was about Christine in this world and meanwhile, nobody in this world was worried about me. Or even knew about my existence.

I hugged myself in an effort to create some warmth. I walked towards the swan-bed and collapsed upon it. I made a mental note to myself not to remain under the covers for too long, because I really didn't want Monsieur to catch me sulking. The covers warmed me, and gave me some sense of tranquillity.

Until it was brutally smashed.

I jumped up and fell upon my butt on the cold hard floor. At first, I thought it was a true ghost, coming to kill me. Then, I thought a woman was having a stroke, or a heart-attack.

_Ooooooouiiii c'est toi que j'aiiiimeee_

Oh. My. Lord.

_Oooooooouiiiiiiiii c'est toi que j'aiiimeeeee_

Oh. My. Jesus. Lord.

That was no woman having a stroke. I knew exactly what this nuisance was and the philosopher in me immediately began to see an evident relation between Monsieur's always gloomy demeanour and this voice which seemed to come straight from hell.

Carlotta.

I thought the musical version was bad, but this was just a torture to the ears. It wasn't an exact performance, she was just sadistically humming about the opera house. All the vanity and stupidity of her person came straight through her voice. All the doubts I had about being stuck in fiction vanished after these horrendous sounds. Which lasted for _hours._ After which I began to believe that this place had _two _phantoms. And I wasn't exactly sure which one of them was worse.

At one point, I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't even think while that sorry excuse for a prima donna was around. And thinking was my greatest hobby, as you know. Frustrated, I began to make my own sound.

Music _was _after all my second greatest hobby. While my singing voice was only for my own ears to hear, I had frequently played my cello on stage. Sometimes in an ensemble, sometimes on my own. I had never been nervous while playing. Actually, my playing could appear quite ferocious. Playing an instrument was certainly a good way to blow off steam.

I got a cello from Monsieur's collection –he had too many instruments anyway- and began to play to block Carlotta's dominant noise. I was in the mood for Brahms, so I played parts of his Hungarian dances. I don't know for sure how long I lasted. At home, I could play for hours and suddenly my mom would come walking in my room and tell me it was time for dinner while I had started at the start of the afternoon.

When I was in the middle of Hungarian dance no 16, I got a slight uncomfortable feeling, which unnerved me further, because this had never happened before. Not when I was being distracted by music.

Curious about this feeling, I looked around me, while still playing the cello. I knew the music by heart, anyway.

Guess three times which peculiar individual was staring at me like they had just discovered the earth wasn't flat.

I'll give you one hint, it wasn't Carlotta.

His staring at me made me stop playing immediately. The cello fell on the ground and the sound it made echoed through the lair. I was such a stupid idiot. Monsieur would certainly throw a tantrum now, for touching –and now nearly damaging- his precious instrument.

"Look, I know I probably shouldn't have touched this," I said while picking up the cello from the ground, "but I really needed something to distract me from _that _noise." I an upward movement with my index-finger and braced myself for another fit of anger. Monsieur, however, just nodded understandingly.

"I have heard it as well. For three months I have been thinking of ways to shut up that cow, but most of the methods I came up with are rather _unconventional._"

_Unconventional, my ass. _

"I totally get why. It hurt my ears." My ears, as a matter of fact, were still hurting. "Why would anyone pay actual money to hear _that_?"

The Phantom sighed in a way that almost made me feel sorry for him.

"I have been asking myself the same question for a long period of time." He grabbed himself an extravagant chair and lifted some sort of sack which I hadn't seen earlier from his shoulders. It was so big that I got a bit suspicious regarding the content.

_Please don't be dead bodies, please don't be dead bodies. _

"Luckily, I have found us a new addition to the opera house which will enhance the quality of the performances." He seemed genuinely happy about that. I watched a small, small smile appear. Wow, he was actually sharing information with me.

"Who?" I asked curiously. A true philosopher never stops asking questions. Monsieur looked me right in the eye. Not with the usual menacing glint in his eyes. No, he was watching me like I was an actual human being.

I shifted in my seat, unable to confront his suddenly very intense stare.

"You," he said. I got up from his seat and took a step in my direction, towering over me. A faint golden shimmer appeared in his eyes. .

"I don't know anything about opera," I said absentmindedly. The realisation just wasn't kicking in. I found myself wondering when he would reprimand me for using his cello. I just wanted him to get it over with.

"You have no need to. You showed me your capabilities. All you have to do is play the notes I hand to you. Whether they are another composer's or my own." I blinked. Realisation had kicked in.

"You want me to play. On stage. In this opera house?" He smiled. A full smile, with teeth and everything.

"I will make sure they will let you make use of one of the cellos in the house and that they will cooperate nicely overall. Or else-"

"A disaster beyond their imagination will occur?" He said nothing for a moment, only watching me. Probably trying to figure me out.

"Why are you suddenly letting go of your abduction/hostage- plan?" His expression changed into an annoyed one.

"Because this method doesn't seem to be working."

"How come?" He bared his teeth and I immediately backed off. I did not want another raging Opera Ghost. Of course, I had asked that question to annoy him to begin with. He had been throwing fits at me while he had held me hostage. It wasn't that strange that I felt a small amount of amusement at the fact that he couldn't find Christine.

"Never mind, never mind. If it grants me some time above ground I completely accept your request." The moment those words were spoken I realised they were quite dangerous.

"It was no request," he whispered. I dared not look at him. I simply nodded.

"Let me make this clear, your talent is from now on for my use alone. I could end your life, or turn it into a living hell whenever I please, or whenever I am _tempted _to make it so. You wouldn't wish for that, would you?" I just nodded again , cursing myself for accepting his terms without further ado. Without questions, without _thinking _at all, at least for the time-being.

"Well now, if you will be as obedient as that from now on there will be nothing to worry about, Rosalie." I hated the way he said obedient. Or the way he suddenly said my name in such a familiar and pleasant tone. In truth, despite my normally easy-going nature, I hated the very idea of being obedient altogether.

No self-respecting philosopher was obedient.

Monsieur who still refused to give me his name at all handed me the sack he had been carrying. I hesitantly took it, but concluded it was too light to contain corpses. Slowly, I opened it, and was pleasantly surprised by what it contained.

Lace, muslin, cotton, some were elegant and others ordinary. All were old-fashioned, but charming all the same.

Yes, I'm talking clothes. Real clothes which were not nightgowns. I was so happy that I temporarily forgot about the conversation from just now and completely ignored the fact that these clothes had most likely been stolen. Either that, or they were bought with the money Monsieur had made the managers give him. What were their names again, anyway?

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, ignoring the fact that a serious hatred towards the Phantom was now growing in my heart. After all, he _could _have just let me walk around in the stupid nightgown for eternity. Which wouldn't have helped his plan much, but in theory he was capable of it.

After all, he was just a crazy dude living underneath an opera house.

"It was no great effort, I assure you." I answered something absent-mindedly, taking in my new possessions like a small child who had just received a gift. I couldn't wait until I could change into it. The corset I was wearing –which had belonged to Christine- was _killing _me. While I thought about that, I wondered what Christine had looked like in my pyjamas. If I had been wearing hers while I had arrived here, there was a chance she had been wearing mine.

"I'm going to change now," I said excitedly. Was it just me or was Erik slightly amused at that exclamation?

"Do as you please," was all he said.

I had decided to stick with the colour of Christine's nightgown, which was white. A neutral colour which didn't need much thought. It truly was a pain to live with red hair sometimes. I constantly wondered if a piece of clothing looked okay in combination with my hair. I had decided _not _to use Christine's corset anymore and just use the other undergarments – they were so huge- Erik had brought with him. I clumsily put on some stockings.

"You sure are taking your time," a voice said from the other room.

"Of course I am, praise yourself lucky you will never have to go through tying all these ribbons."

The dress was comfortable around my upper body, but the sleeves were a little too long. I liked the fact that most of my body was covered now – which hadn't been the case in that horrendous sleeping gown. The dress also was made out of a thicker material, which wouldn't have me trembling in the cold underground temperature anymore.

The shoes though, they were a whole different story. I had never been good at wearing high heels. Not to mention high heels form the 19th century. Monsieur had brought me quite a nice pair of elegant white boots.

He was scribbling down notes when I appeared in front of him again. It took him several minutes to notice my presence. Although he had quite sharp eyes –eyes that seemed to be omnipresent, at times- it took a lot of him to snap out of his music.

I half-heartedly twirled around , a twister of ribbons and lace, feeling like the ballerina's who were presumably practicing or performing upstairs.

"Are you by any means expecting me to compliment you?" Was all Monsieur said. I blushed.

"No." He smirked at me.

"That is a pity, for the dress does make you look like a decent woman, mademoiselle."

Strangely, my cheeks became even more red at that remark.


	5. Chapter 5

***A/N: I might stray a little from the movie version. The performances will be the same, just like the role of most characters. Actually there will only be 2 characters from the novel added tot his. I just think it would be a waste to not include them. Christine might have hints of the book version and the novel version, though they aren't that different. **

**Thank you all so much for reading my story! **

* * *

**The Swap **

**Chapter 5: In which I gain a second head and a wonderful reputation**

Currently, I was desperately trying not to sing "Row row row your boat", for I was just that excited to finally see above ground again. A certain person had been very hard to satisfy, lately. He had been complaining non-stop for the past few days whenever I hadn't immediately played some parts from _Il muto _right after just taking in the sheet music.

The fact that music needed lots of practice, which had been my retort, Monsieur had used cruelly against me. Which had basically caused what I had dubbed the Cello Sessions of Doom.

I tried not to think of those too much as I took in my ever changing surroundings. The first statues I saw where the rocky, colourless kind. They looked like demons. Slowly, the surroundings began to change. At one point, the lake stopped, and we had to get out of the boat. Without a warning, Monsieur suddenly blindfolded me.

"I know you have not enough power to row this boat on your own, but for you to know one of the routes to my domain would be extremely troublesome."

"Like I would do that. I know it would mean my death," I said in protest as he leaded me, through the opera house which was now invisible to me. He didn't answer. Figures.

However, his up tightness in the end only caused the opera house to be only more spectacular to me when I was finally able to see it.

My eyes nearly popped out when I saw the golden statues of the Opera Populaire. I had always preferred the baroque style of architecture, because it reminded me of the age of the Enlightenment, when philosophy was revived again.

The people going about their daily business completely finished it off. Their clothes were elegant, their manners either charming or typical, but all of them were enchanting. I understood why the Phantom, the most illustrious figure of them all, loved the opera house so much.

I stopped to look for a moment when a few ballerinas ran towards a woman who had an extreme lack of teeth, before Monsieur Firmìn ordered me to make haste.

When we arrived at the opera hall, I was introduced to the maestro, a plain elder man with a grey moustache.

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle Fovel, I understand you have already practiced your part?" he said, eyeing my suitcase.

"I know it by heart, Monsieur," I said smiling, suddenly very excited. After all, today was the day of the last rehearsals. Tomorrow I was going to play in an actual opera house! Even though I had been quite good in my own time, this was a huge honour. And I ironically had Monsieur to thank for it. It had some cons to live under one roof with the Opera Ghost.

The maestro told me to take a seat with the other cellists. I opened my case and picked up Monsieur's treasured instrument. The man next to me stared at it admiringly. Even though Monsieur's instruments were always scattered on the floor, they were well taken care off.

As we began rehearsing the songs, the most hideous voice echoed through the hall, soon accompanied by a man's. I had already been wondering when she would arrive.

She did not disappoint me in the least. Boy, did she meet my expectations. Everything about her appearance, from the gigantic hair to her contrasting make-up, screamed for attention. While Carlotta stampeded through the hall, Piangi followed suit, and silent. That poor fatty must have been aching for a glass of water because of all the movement he wasn't used to.

The duo was following jet another man. He silently made his way to the corner, where the managers were discussing something. The man ignored Carlotta's existence, while she was desperately trying to catch his attention. I liked the man for distressing Carlotta. He was very handsome, in a Ken-like way, and his eyes were as determent as they were innocent. He did well, he also met my expectations very well indeed, especially when I noticed Christine's name was present in almost every sentence he spoke. While I listened to him reprimanding the managers in the distance, I secretly thanked Monsieur for making me practice my part so much. I would have messed up for sure by spacing off like this if I hadn't.

I almost did just that, however, when the Vicomte gave me a look so murderous it even rivalled Monsieur's.

_Christine, are you sure you are better off with that man?_

Those treacherous Willy Wonka look-alikes had probably informed Raoul about my "bonds" with Monsieur. That thought kept haunting me , together with Raoul's angry Ken-face, for the rest of the rehearsals. Which were torture, because our prima donna joined us soon.

By the time we had rehearsed everything a thousand times (at least) my ears were aching, as well as my arms, and my throat was screaming for a glass of water. When I got up from my seat – my legs protested heavily- my neighbour gave me an approving glance.

"You play well, Mademoiselle, and you have a very beautiful instrument." I tried to snap out of my tired state. Usually, my arms never ached after playing, but even Monsieur's ferocious preparations hadn't prepared me for this. Besides, I hadn't played for some time, before Monsieur had discovered my abilities, and things had kept going wrong with the dancers. Half of the singers had forgotten their lines as well. It had all been fine in the end, but the atmosphere had been quite tense. And everyone knew why.

"Thank you very much Monsieur.."

"Louvel," he answered, "Bertrand Louvel, at your service, to be sure." He took my hand and kissed it lightly. His moustache tickled, but I didn't mind. I hadn't been in the presence of civil people for a long time. Actually, I had never been greeted in such a proper way.

"I look forward to collaborating with you." Bertrand said, as he left the scene. Soon, the hall was almost empty. People were all tired. Especially the dancers. To my dismay, there was one individual who kept staring at me, until we were alone. Damn Monsieur for instructing me to wait for him here, I thought, when Raoul approached me.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, for introducing myself so frivolously, but I am in the middle of a great distress, and you happen to have the power to relieve me from it, at least a little." I blinked, my expression displaying nothing but ignorance, while my mind turned into a rollercoaster.

I was sure of it that the mangers had enlightened Raoul about my relations hip with the Opera Ghost, but I did not know what the latter had told the duo about me. I had told Monsieur that I had been a maid of the Changy family.

Wait.

That was it.

Raoul knew nothing, and that was going to be my downfall. Monsieur had probably arranged this to test me, to see if he had been right in distrusting me. He could be listening to this conversation, from somewhere.

"Why, Monsieur de Changy, you could have asked me a long time ago, for I have remained in your service for three months, until a fortnight ago." This surely surprised him.

"My apologies for my ignorance. I do not know all of our servants and am not in charge of all of them. Besides my distress only started recently."

"What is it that distresses you so greatly, Monsieur de Changy?" The Vicomte had gigantic bags under his eyes. His hair was a mess and his clothes, although of fine quality, had been put on without a care.

_He must really love Christine a lot. _

"A good friend of mine has recently gone missing, and I have come to understand that this incident could be the doing of someone they call "The Phantom of the Opera". Now, before you answer me, the managers have told me that you possibly have met this person and that you might have a clue about Christine Daaé's current whereabouts."

I shook my head. Little did he know that the Phantom had thought the same thing, Sadly, I didn't know more than anybody else.

"I am sorry Monsieur. I can't help you. Even if I could speak freely, I couldn't tell you with certainty where your friend is." This triggered something. Suddenly, Raoul's hands clasped my shoulders.

"Am I to understand that you do have a clue?" His eyes pierced mine. I found it hard to breathe.

"Please, Mademoiselle Fovel. Perhaps if you collaborate now it will save you from being trialled for Christine's disappearance later. Or should I say: abduction." My fingers tightly grasped my cello as his hands kept holding my shoulders.

"Please, Monsieur, it hurts." This made him give me a confused look. Appalled, he stared at his hands around my shoulders.

"Forgive me, I-"

But before he could finish his sentence, a voice that could have come from every possible direction filled the room even more than Carlotta's had done earlier today.

"Let go of that woman, Monsieur. If you know what is best for your well-being."

"YOU," Raoul shouted. He finally let me go, forgetting about my existence.

"I know you are behind this. You are no ghost. You are a man and I will find you. I will take Christine away from you, if it means my death!"

The Opera Ghost cackled, playing the ultimate villain.

"I wish you were making the right assumption." Raoul scanned the room, trying to find the Phantom.

"I know I am making the right assumption, for Mademoiselle Fovel knows something, and I am determent to find out. Either way she will be better off without you. She might disappear as well!" Raoul grabbed my wrist. Always the gentleman. Some people needed lessons in manners. I had always thought that people in the past were more civil, but I had been wrong.

"Come with me, Mademoiselle. Leave this madness at once." I stared at him. This was a very bad idea. Monsieur would kill me if I would go along with him.

"Take her and you will die were you stand!" Or he would kill Raoul. Either way somebody would die. And as usual, it would all be Monsieur's fault.

The latter's voice was like thunder, and in the distance, I saw two golden lights. The walls were vibrating and they slowly began to move.

"Fool!" I shouted at Raoul. "Release me now! I admit I know something, but you will never hear it if you get both of us killed!" He gave me a demanding stare and kept holding my wrist. I sighed and stood on my toes.

"_Tomorrow_," I whispered in his ear. Tomorrow I would have to come up with an explanation. I would have to lie to him, or tell him the truth. I wondered what would be more believable.

Raoul nodded, and left, after sending one last worried look at my direction. As soon as I turned around, I found a cloaked figure behind me. I held back a shriek.

"You know, I am quite surprised at the fact you didn't just let him take me with him," I said dryly. The Phantom sighed.

"Believe me, it was very tempting, but in that case you would have told others about the location of my domain." I snickered.

"I thought the whole Opera Populaire was your domain?" He gave me an appalled look and said nothing for two minutes. Instead, he gestured me to a point in the wall. I didn't really understand why. Was he expecting me to go all Harry Potter on him and disappear into the bricks? He sighed at my enquiring expression, strode towards the wall and made a turn to the right. Next thing I knew he was gone, and it took me a few seconds to realise the brick-wall actually consisted out of two walls placed strategically in front of each other so they seemed inseparable.

"Oh. I see. You're not a wizard." A moan was followed by a few agitated footsteps, before I followed him back to his domain.

"Do we have to go by boat again?" I said as he blindfolded me again. "Because in that case, you're rowing again." That way, I wouldn't be the only one with sore arms.

* * *

The next day, I was roughly awoken by said sore, but strong, arms.

"What the fuck is the matter with you! Can't you just tell me to wake up? That hurts!" I even preferred his organ music to this. That damn opera man.

"If you would perhaps sleep in a normal manner, Mademoiselle, none of this would have been necessary." I scoffed.

"I'm surprised you even know what "a normal manner" is." Groaning, I got up, only to shriek and fall on my butt, on my beautiful bed. The Phantom gave me an annoyed look. Alright, perhaps it was justified, because I had been complaining a lot.

"What is it now?" he asked. "We must hurry, for whose fools will start without you."

"You sleep in a coffin!" I hadn't noticed before. Apparently, I had ignored it in my Patrick-mode.

"Are you trying to become a vampire or something? Or are you just into that kind of thing?" I myself had actually no idea what I meant by "that kind of thing". The Phantom rubbed his temples.

"Really Mademoiselle, you are very lucky to be talented in music." I absentmindedly got up from my bed, my eyes never leaving the creepy coffin/bed.

"Why am I lucky? Did you use the swan bed before I arrived here? Or have you been sleeping in that thing before that time as well? And if you haven't, for what purpose _did_ you own that coffin? Where did you even get it? How did you even get it?" At this point, he just completely ignored my morning philosophy and started dragging me behind a folding screen. He handed me a pastel blue dress which I recognized from the pile he had brought me two days ago. Along with it came a hair tie in the same colour. They were kinda cute.

"Your attire should match with that of the others," was all he said.

"Thank you. I think you have more fashion-sense than I do. I'm kinda jealous." His face was the very definition of "no comment".

* * *

As he rowed us out of the lair, I thought of two things. The most prominent one was what I would tell Raoul. Or rather, what I wouldn't tell him. I felt guilty for not wanting to tell him about the possible whereabouts of the one he loved, but he wouldn't believe me anyway. Or worse, he would send me to the asylum, which would probably not be a very pleasant place in the 19th century. Maybe I could just stick to my story, but with a few alterations. I did love music, so I could have been there, at the evening of Hannibal, as an admirer of the show. But if I had been a maid around that time, which I had told him, how would I have been able to afford a visit to the opera house. Was it even possible for a maid to be able to practice playing the cello at all? Probably not, that's why they were maids. But Christine hadn't actually been very rich either.

This was going to be a problem…

The second problem that haunted my mind was what the Phantom had planned for today. Carlotta was singing this evening, but in the movie, the Phantom had wanted to avoid this, making her croak like a toad. Would that still happen? Or had the absence of Christine Daaé influenced the story so much that Monsieur had been to distracted? Or had her absence achieved the complete opposite and made Monsieur even more passionate about ruining Carlotta's career and life?

The latter was more likely. That man never stopped brooding, I was sure of it. But it wasn't actually Carlotta that I was concerned about, her croaking like a toad was actually the only thing I could remember of the evening of the performance of Il Muto in the movie. I was quite convinced there had happened something else. I actually really wanted to know what it had been. I didn't take not knowing something well, but I couldn't exactly ask him. I had annoyed him enough already. However, he had become quite tolerant with my never-ending questions since he had heard me play. Maybe if I just subtly tried.

"So, any ghost duties today?" Being subtle had never been my strongest quality.

He gave me the most exasperated look and momentarily stared at the boat, probably contemplating if he should just sink it, together with me.

"None of them are of any importance to you." I grinned. Monsieur's face grew paler at my grin, I swear.

"So you _are _up to something?"

I heard him mutter something about "lucky" and "cello" before he answered me.

"Why must you always ask questions?" I giggled.

"That was a question." By the way his muscles tensed, I could see it took a lot of effort not to throw the oar in the lake and himself with it.

"You truly complete my hell," was all he said. I pouted, though he couldn't see it, for he was focused on rowing once again.

"A philosopher never stops asking questions," I muttered. This time it was him who scoffed.

"You are no philosopher, Mademoiselle, perhaps a cellist, but not a philosopher." Now he made _me _want to throw him into the water.

"Yes I AM," I said, shouting out that last word. It echoed through the underground, startling me with its rawness.

"Sorry," I said, fearing one of Monsieur's tantrums.

Surprisingly enough all I heard were chuckles.

"What's so funny?" I enquired reluctantly.

"It is quite easy to tease you. Or to scare you."

"Oh." He turned around, only the unmasked side of his face was visible, making him look normal. Well, as far as a man in a giant cloak rowing a boat can be considered normal.

""Oh", indeed," he said, smirking. I couldn't help but smile at this . His moods were always somewhat contagious.

His golden eyes flickered in the dark.

"I was being serious just now, though. Do I have anything to worry about today, or anything to keep in mind?" He sighed.

"The only thing you have to keep in mind is not to interrupt my plans. Oh, and not to speak to the Vicomte."

Really? This would only complicate everything. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Alright, Opera Ghost." He gave me a brooding look. I just smiled in a dorky way, hoping he would buy it.

He did. At least I thought so at the time, because he didn't say anything to me after that. He even hummed something, which I recognised as a part from Don Juan Triumphant. He hadn't worked on it while I had been present. Well, maybe he had yesterday, when I had been practicing with the rest. I wondered if he still planned on using the Opera Populaire to execute his work. If so, would he have Carlotta sing the lead? I highly doubted it. I didn't know which soprano the opera house even featured besides Carlotta, because she was so dominant, but Monsieur's demands were so high, only few would do.

* * *

Bertrand greeted me excitedly when he saw me.

"There you are! I was already afraid we had lost our otchestra's finest member."

"Too much honour, Monsieur," I said, smiling. It was just so nice to be complimented after being in the company of Monsier for too long. I mean, sure, he had improved in his behaviour towards me, but his presence was still intimidating.

Although I would rather attempt to make a campfire than admit that.

I would fail while screaming anyway.

"Are you nervous?" Bertrand said teasingly. No doubt he had noticed my face during my previous thought.

"Not after your encouragement."

"Good, because Carlotta has a manner of being at het most insufferable when the play is about to start. It is nerve-wracking to everyone, except for that Piangi. That man has nerves of steel."

"I guess that is only to be expected when married to La Carlotta."

"True enough, my dear. Oh, there you have it. Brace yourself!" I burst out laughing at Bertrand's expression of utter horror when the doors opened. I braced myself indeed. Carlotta, not completely in costume, and her hair covered by a net –which was, I resume, a preparation for the wig- stampeded through the hall, followed by Monsieur André this time. Behind them, an older-looking version of Raoul, as well as Raoul himself, strode inside while softly discussing something. I hoped it was important enough to make Raoul forget about yesterday, but one look from the latter's side burst my hopeful thoughts. Raoul's companion suddenly tore away his gaze from Raoul and began to glance around the hall. I got the sudden urge to hide behind Bertrand, but the eyes had already found me by that moment. I stood there speechless as he winked at me.

That had been a bold move, especially in this time, for someone of a high rank, which I assumed he possessed because of his intimacy with the Vicomte. That glint in his eye had been full of innuendos as well. Just who was this guy? He could have been a relative of Raoul's but I did not remember him from the movie. If only Caitlin had been there with me. She would have known everything about anyone here, as well as Monsieur's plans. Not to mention she would have tried to rape Monsieur every ten seconds so I wouldn't have had to deal with his gloominess all the time. And she would have told me his true name, which I still wanted to know, although I liked calling him "Monsieur", partially since I found it ironic considering he had called Raoul that in the movie all the time.

"W'ERE IS MY DRESS?" screamed, or rather, screeched everyone's favourite soprano. I instantly covered my ears. That falsetto was deadly. Bertrand laughed at my expression of pure torture.

"Poor Mademoiselle, this is only the beginning of the performance."

"The performance hasn't even started yet!" I protested.

"She makes a habit of favouring us with at least six ones a day, excluding the ones fitted for the visitors." I groaned, realising too late that nobody dared to utter a sound because of the violence of Carlotta's tirade. My groan echoed through the building. There was no way it could have gone unnoticed. Carlotta, still a hot mess, turned around from her attempt at strangling Monsieur Firmìn, which I had missed because of a talkative cellist and Raoul's older, flirtier twin.

" W'o did 'at?" I didn't dare to say anything, but my frightened face, together with my red hair, which stood out and was never helpful at times like these, gave me away.

"You little roach!" She screeched yet again. I instantly covered my ears again, which only made it worse.

"Madame, please," Monsieur Firmìn tried to reason, seemingly relieved because his throat was out of danger.

"I will not 'ave myself being ridiculed by a roach!" the Prima Donna burst out. I wanted to reason with her. I even got a few philosophic thoughts on the subject of the use of hairnets, but decided it was best not to share them. These insights would have been a waste on someone like her.

"You don't need yet another cellist! I want 'er gone! Or else I will not sing!"

"That will not do, Madame!" the manager said, the very image of stress.

"And w'y not?"

"Because SHE is the cellist chosen by the PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"

"Opera….opera," the walls and ceilings mimicked him. It was almost as if his voice came straight from the golden statues. I was sure a lot of people had heard about it already, but it wasn't a picknick to have everybody stare wide-eyed at you as if you had suddenly gained a second head. Only Bertrand was still smiling at me. He was without a doubt used to the rumours and gossip of the opera house.

Carlotta stayed very silent. For a time.

"All the more reason to dispose of the little roach," she murmured, only to release the next wave of complaints at the poor manager, who I actually didn't pity at all because he had just gained me a wonderful reputation.

"Madame, do not fret your pretty head over the girl, it is not worth your time. The girl is a great cellist, and you would not want the orchestra to be unworthy of your voice, would you?" This came from Raoul's clone. Or maybe Raoul was his cone, since he was younger. The flattery seemed to work on the Prima Donna, although it earned Raoul's twin a distrusting look from Piangi.

"I cannot wait to hear your lovely voice this evening, Madame. I will be sure to attend all the performances, _together with my brother._" He gave Raoul a warning look. Aha, so they were brothers.

The younger brother, however, didn't seem too pleased at the thought of having to attend all Carlotta's performances. I didn't blame him.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to let your husband and myself accompany you to your dressing room, together with the Mademoiselle from earlier, so that she may have the chance to apologise." Carlotta gave me a cocky look. I nearly threw up. However, I did obey Raoul's brother, when he gestured me to come over. No doubt Raoul had told him everything just now. That had been the reason he had winked at me earlier.

Together with Carlotta, Raoul's big bro chatted away. Piangi remained silent while watching them warily.

I managed to mutter something that resembled an apology just before Carlotta, after uttering some nasty remarks at the expense of yours truly, entered her dressing room, Piangi decided to do the same with his, al the while muttering something about his pants being too tight. Fatty.

Without the company of the Prima Donna and Prima Uomo, I was alone with Raouls older brother. I suppose Philippe, because he was the firstborn, was the Comte de Changy?

"I do wonder why I never took notice of you before, Mademoiselle." Oh shit, interrogation 2.0 was about to begin.

"We only met to- , ahum. I am not a very noticeable person, Monsieur. After all, I was only a maid." The Comte de Changy nodded and stopped walking when he had reached a small corridor. He gestured me to follow him.

"Indeed you were, at our household, which is peculiar you see, given the fact I do not remember you." I nodded. My palms were starting to sweat.

"Yes, you told me so, just now." He grimaced.

"I find it very intriguing, for I _am in charge _of our staff. Well, not directly, but I do know all the names of those who go in, and go out, as well as those who work with us or against us. As a noble, you learn who to trust and who not to trust." He smiled, but his eyes didn't join the friendly expression. I simply nodded again. Completely intimidated, but trying not to show it.

_If you want to kill me, you are doing a wonderful job. I dare say even Monsieur would be envious. _

"So, Mademoiselle Fovel, whose name is strangely not known anywhere in Paris, are you with us, or against us?" I gulped and desperately tried to keep looking into his eyes without fainting, although that had been quite normal in this period of time.

"I-I," I gulped again.

"I am neither, Monsieur," this amused him even more.

"Really? In that case, I find it most extraordinary that you are using our family name to make yourself an alibi. Do you know what consequences that could have for our reputation?" I hadn't thought about that at all. I had been under the impression that I would never even meet a member of this prestigious family. Oh, and at the time of making up this alibi, I had just received the scare of my life by waking up in the lair of the Phantom of the Opera. That hadn't exactly cleared my head.

"I regret it deeply, Monsieur, but at that moment, circumstanced forced me to think of something as soon as possible. No harm was intended at anyone." He moved in closer. My back met the cold stone wall.

"I do wonder what those circumstances were, you do not seem the type to be engaged with crime, yet I have learned that looks often conceal what lies beneath." I remembered his flirtatious wink. If he got involved with women like that all the time there was no doubt he had found that out.

"Now, I will let you use our family name at one condition." I looked up at him.

"Really?" He smirked.

"Really, but you are to act as a proper servant. You will assist my brother in his search for Mademoiselle Daaé as much as you can. That is, by providing him information about the "Opera Ghost"." He scoffed.

"Not that I believe in this individual, of course, but one can never be sure these days. Disobey my brother, betray my brother, and I will hand you to the authorities charged with crimes you may of may have not commit. I'll assure you that the list will be quite long." Suddenly, his body rested against mine.

"And in case you ever find yourself with spare time on your hands, feel free to visit me." He handed me a card.

"My name, in case you did not know, is Philippe de Changy." He gave me a creepy look. "I quite like redheads."

And then he just walked away. What a bastard. Men were always the same, in every age. There had been one just like him, which had resulted in a déjà vu. But that's a story for another time. For now, I just had to lie to Raoul. Which was, despite Philppe's earlier threats the safest bet. Knowing Monsieur, he had listened to this entire conversation. And it was way more dangerous to betray Monsieur, than to betray Philippe.

Monsieur, I remembered, had told me not to speak to Raoul today. Although I hadn't done that, and therefore not disobeyed him, something in my gut told me he wouldn't be too happy about this conversation between Philippe and myself either.

My earlier suspicion of Monsieur spying on the Comte and myself, was proven right when the voice of the Phantom of the Opera emerged from wherever he was hiding.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Mademoiselle."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Swap **

**Chapter 6: In which I save a bastard from a bastard**

"I do not know how much time there is left for that." I replied.

"You know, the show must go on?" It was the only way to delay my execution I could think of.

"I do not see why there would be that much time needed. I just want you to answer one question. At the moment, at least. Why did you lie to me?"

"Because I didn't want you to know the truth?" I was so close to face-palming at myself. When the Phantom appeared behind me he seemed very likely to do the same.

"For someone who thinks that questions are of great importance, you do not put in much effort when answering them."

"I DO, but yours happen to be pretty tricky to answer." He raised one visible eyebrow.

"At least, tricky for me. The real and true answer to your question is very unbelievable." The Phantom cackled at this.

"They call me the Trap Door Lover, the Phantom of the Opera and the Angel of Music. Some people, the Comte de Changy, for example, believe my very existence to be unbelievable. Go on, Mademoiselle, try me."

_I tried you before. That didn't turn out well. _

I sighed. This fucking guy needed to stop forcing me to answer his questions. That sounds quite unfair coming from me, I realise. I knew he was more likely to believe something weird, because he himself was very weird – that is the understatement of the century. But for Monsieur to believe a girl had travelled into a –fictional!- past went too far. Even for him.

"Can I not just please you by saying that I am no servant of the Changy family, but that I play no part in Miss Daaé's disappearance either and that, in fact, I arrived in your lair without any intention or desire to do so?"

He stared at the wall behind me , which contained a few golden statues, in thought.

"Before you give me any further details I cannot say anything for sure. I can therefore not trust you entirely. But you do appear as someone unfortunate who can easily get into trouble."

"Uh, thank you?" He smirked.

"It was no compliment."

"Oh." I avoided his eyes, which were taking me in with an amusement I had never seen before. Therefore, it frightened me a bit, which is bad, because philosophers look for the unknown, and shouldn't get scared of it.

"But your playing is very appealing. Which is why I shall tolerate your presence, as well as your endless questions, Mademoiselle Fovel." That somehow made a smile appear on my lips. Maybe he was starting to grow on me.

"Rosalie." I reminded him. I sounded surprisingly determent.

"Please call me Rosalie. Every time I hear someone say "Mademoiselle" I think of my grandfather, who always said it when he was mocking me. Or punishing me for making trouble." He raised his only visible eyebrow again.

"Perhaps I will tell you about that one day. However not before you call me Rosalie." Yes, of course. Chatting with the Phantom of the Opera with a nice cup of tea and some cookies. Said Phantom sighed very audibly. No doubt he had an upcoming headache. I got that a lot. Especially from Cate.

"Very well, Rosalie." I smirked.

"And please tell me your name. At least then I won't have to call you "Monsieur" in my mind. With variations."

"_Variations?_" I gulped when he glared daggers at me. It was unfortunate that, unlike his eyebrows, both his eyes were visible.

"You are very easy to tease, _Rosalie._" He chuckled at me, yet again. What was his deal today, getting all friendly? It was even scarier than when he was in angry-mode. Well, almost.

"I shall compromise with you. My last name is Destler. There, now you have something to add to your "Monsieur"."

_My _Monsieur? He hadn't meant it that way. I knew that. Still, the mere thought made me feel very, very uncomfortable.

Monsieur _Destler_, didn't notice. Still laughing, quickly pushed a random point in the marble wall. A space only big enough to let in a man side wards appeared.

"Return to the orchestra, Rosalie. I shall be watching."

"No doubt you will." I muttered darkly.

* * *

Bertrand cheerfully greeted me once I was back at his side. He seemed to be eager to interrogate me about everything that had happened once I had left. Unfortunately, there was no time to lose, for the performance was "not to be delayed by the tiniest minute". As one of the manager's – I couldn't always tell them apart- often said.

I was glad I didn't have to make something up and lie to Bertand yet. I had gotten sick of lying. That was why I had told Monsieur Destler the truth in the first place. Because of that, and the fact that I had become of more significance to him, which prevented him from using his good ol' Punjab lasso.

I heavily concentrated myself at the music I had to play in the hours to come. I was, after all, to perform in an opera house. Not to mention it was quite horrid things came to my mind when I thought about what might happen if I were to mess up somehow.

"Shame! Shame! Shame!" The choir sang. The dancers moved stiffly, dressed like rococo angels. Especially the blonde ballerina girl. I believed she was Christine's friend. What was her name again? Mag? She looked so cute. Okay, so much for heavy concentration.

Carlotta was, no surprise here, quite suitable for her role of countess. Not in the way she sang, which would put nails on a chalkboard to shame, but in the way she acted. There was hardly any difference between the Carlotta inside and outside of the performance.

Just when I was forcing myself to get back to work, the fun commenced.

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT, THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?" I swear, that almost made me play a different note than instructed. Carlotta, however, bravely – or rather, arrogantly- ignored the damn opera man.

"_You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's abscen- _CROAK!_"_

It took all my self-restraint not to let go of my instrument and laugh my lungs out. I looked to my side. Bertrand desperately bit on his lip and tried not to meet my eyes. _Someone else_, though, had no scruples in sharing his amusement. His cackle was the loudest of all.

But La Carlotta was not so easily intimidated. Bravely, she inhaled again, a sign to the orchestra to follow. It was no use.

"CROAK!" Said Carlotta.

After the spectators truly began to lose it, the curtain was closed – although one oblivious dancer remained, which made the maestro use some aggressive gestures. Meanwhile, the managers stepped in, announcing the ballet and another soprano to sing Carlotta's part. Someone who Monsieur D. –that sounded really inappropriate- had probably recommended.

I, now quite annoyed, skipped through my sheet music, searching for the ballet part. Bertrand was still grinning, for he was having the time of his life. While we started playing again, something felt off. They had never gotten to the next part in the movie. Christine had never sang because…

Oh lord. Joseph Buquet. Monsieur Jerkface was going to murder someone. And I could prevent it. I glanced around nervously. The orchestra was hidden from the visitors for the biggest part, but my leaving could still be noticed. Even when the spectators wouldn't see me leave, the orchestra would.

Still, was that really something to be concerned about at a time like this? Even when the life that was in danger was the one of the guy whom I only remembered because of a ballerina fetish?

I was no hero. I was actually a huge coward, but I had philosophised about murder a number of times, and I had always come to the same conclusion.

It was wrong.

I got up from my seat.

"Mademoiselle?" Bertrand whispered.

"I don't feel well." I said softly. It wasn't even a lie. I felt like throwing up. Bertrand seemed to get ready to follow me. There was no hint of the glee that had dominated his expression earlier. I gently pushed him back in his seat.

"Stay here." I begged him. After that, I got away as quickly as possible. I didn't know how, but I needed to get my butt above the stage as soon as possible.

So, I didn't know exactly which way to go. I ended up at the dance foyer, which was currently empty because all the dancers where out doing the ballet. Which meant nobody would stop me. At least, so I thought when somebody who was wearing an astrakhan cap emerged from the shadows. He looked very out-of-breath. His eyes widened when he saw me, but before he said anything to delay me from my task I asked him for direction.

"To get to _him_, you must simply climb the wooden constructions." He pointed to the not very sturdy looking constructions which I had missed in my haste.

"Perhaps it is best if you go, yes. He will not listen to me, but he admires you. He does! Go!" I simply nodded and left. There was no time to ponder who this man was and why he knew about the Phantom and myself.

When the wood creaked in protest, I was scared as hell to end up like Joseph Buquet, minus the lasso. The construction of wood and rope didn't fall apart though, and for that I was grateful, for I already heard someone huffing in the distance. I quickly got on my way, forgetting my initial fear.

After one minute I was already sweaty to the bone. Those freaking ancient dresses didn't exactly let your skin breathe. Twenty ladders and ropes later, I finally saw them. They were playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game. It was horrifying to see how much Monsieur enjoyed it. Certainly, Joseph Buquet, however much of a bastard he might be, didn't deserve this?

I tried to make no noise whatsoever. Nonetheless, Joseph Buquet's eye fell on me. I quickly raised a finger to my lips in the hope he would understand. The bastard seemed to have no faith in me though, because the next thing I knew, he exclaimed: "Look there, Monsieur!" And the Phantom of the Opera turned around. When he saw me, I thought he was going to kill me then and there. There was something so cold, so animalistic, in his entire appearance.

Joseph Buquet ran away, without hesitation. He was now too far from Monsieur to be reached by him. _He_ would live.

I didn't know what to do when he came closer to me. Part of me really, really wanted to run away. But that would certainly start a chain reaction. And if Monsieur really was to kill me, running away would only make it more fun for him.

"Do you realise what you did?" He said, his voice a calm before the storm. A storm that would certainly be the end of me.

"Of course I did." I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded. I had expected it to be a squeak. Maybe I had gotten too used to the Opera Ghost.

"Then you must face the consequences." He said darkly. I just nodded, totally forgetting the one rule you cannot do without when stuck in this very story.

_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes. _

That was what I thought when the rope met my skin in one swift movement. My body was taken down with a tremendous force. I had to follow, or else I would surely be dead.

"One life must be replaced by another." He said with a cold voice. That didn't mean anything good. Before I could curse him, which, from this spot, all the visitors would hear, the rope was removed as just soon as it had appeared.

"Remember that, next time."

He could have been referring to either my memory of the most important rule, or what he had said just now. I wasn't likely to forget both of them very soon.

* * *

No matter how much I wanted to get away from the dreadful place, I couldn't bring myself to move after what had happened. I could have been dead. I had never had a near-death experience, so this was all quite new for me. Although it was quite interesting material to philosophize over, when, or _if _I would ever feel good enough to philosophize again.

I didn't feel like it at present. That only emphasized my current state of mind, which had returned to zero. That was, until I heard some loud groans of effort. I looked behind me, alarmed, and started to get up. I immediately ceased those attempts, for as soon as I even moved, I started to see stars.

The person who had been moaning came closer into view, and I recognized him as Philippe de Changy. He offered me his hand, which was covered by a nice white glove. I took his hand, and he started to pull me up.

"Are you quite alright, Mademoiselle." I just shook my head. Tears threatened to fall down from my eyes. This surprised Philippe for a moment, before a stern expression appeared on his face.

"You will come down with me. We will talk later. This is truly an intolerable state to be in." And he began dragging me down the building. The opera, from the sound of it, was going on without an interruption. If only they knew who to thank for that, or that there was someone to be thanked for that fact at all.

Raoul was very surprised at the sight of me, but even more surprised by the way I looked.

"Is Mademoiselle Fovel unwell?" He informed. Although Philippe had asked me the same rhetorical question earlier, he still gave his brother the No shit, Sherlock-look.

"What happened?" The Vicomte asked, ignoring his brother entirely. "Is it _him_ again?" I simply nodded, not having the energy to contemplate whether it was a smart move to betray the bastard or not.

"From the looks of it, he violated her." Philippe said. The meaning of his words only got to me after several minutes in which the brothers had gotten into a huge discussion about whether Monsieur had "taken my innocence", or not, which already had gotten to a different subject entirely at the moment I chimed in.

"He did NOT rape me!" I yelled for the whole opera house to hear. For some reason I was of the opinion that he would never do that. Even though he had almost killed me.

"He wouldn't." I whispered.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle. We have been neglecting you while you are, of course, in no mood whatsoever to be the object of a discussion. I have quite made up my mind." Philippe said. He had made up his mind? About what? He interpreted my vague expression correctly, for he immediately began explaining.

"We have decided to take you to our mansion. It is clear that you are not safe here, and the testimony we could give the police wouldn't do to catch the madman in this opera house." This brought tears to my eyes again. I didn't actually want to return to Monsieur's lair after this, but leaving him behind seemed, what was the word? Cruel.

No, it seemed like something Christine would do.

As if he had read my mind, Raoul joined his brother in enlightening, and persuading me.

"After Christine's disappearance I wouldn't forgive myself if the same would happen to you." He said.

Some guilt lingered in his eyes. And I knew very well why. I currently knew what the Phantom of the Opera looked like, what his lair looked like, and I might have even been able to recall the location of some of his secret passages. I was the perfect person to use in order to get to the Opera Ghost. And currently, I didn't like the Opera Ghost very much, so it wasn't very hard to talk me into it.

But it wasn't for those reasons that I would accept the offer. I was truly hurt. Because in the past few days, the Phantom had proven himself as something more than a madman beneath an opera house, or the crazy dude from the movie. He was crazy as heck, sure, but he had shown me kindness. Although I had been a nuisance to him just now, he shouldn't have _betrayed _me like that.

Yet, why did it feel as if it were the opposite case?

_He has already started calling me Rosalie. _My mind nagged, while I focused on the Changy brothers.

"I will go with you."

* * *

In their hurry to get away from the opera house they had forgotten to cover her hair. She herself was in too much of a shock to think about something as insignificant as her hair. But he was thankful for it, for he was now able to spot her while she walked towards the dark carriage. The Changy brothers were standing at both her sides. He swore he would make them regret their decision.

Although, he was smart enough to realise this was all his own fault. He shouldn't have pretended to strangle her. The same mistake he had made with Christine, letting his temper take over, had ruined everything.

He had enjoyed his time with her more than he had thought he would. Not only for her outstanding way of executing music. He found himself aching to prevent her from forgetting him and to bring her back to his side. Did she really think she could get away as easily as that?

In order to destroy that illusion, it was about time he tried to get in back touch with a certain person.

* * *

**A/N: So, bad things happen, huh? Let me know what you think in the reviews. **

**Thank you all for reading my story!**

***Fee-tan**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Swap**

**Act II**

**Chapter 7: In which I don't know **

The modern times had their advances. I began to enjoy its songs a lot. I sang once again for the enjoyment of it, and for the liberty it gave me. I got lost in the melodies of works that were so different from the opera's repertoire that my good genius would have surely fainted, had they reached his ear. Truly, I hadn't grown accustomed to the modern music without difficulty. But they were entirely new, free of any unpleasant memories which were sometimes –although they became rarer and rarer- threatening to surface.

It had took me longer to get adjusted to the clothing of this time period. It was most shocking to discover how tightly they could embrace the body. Not to mention how much they could reveal. I had found that out, because it was summer. I had thanked the heavens for the wardrobe of the currently absent Rosalie, who owned a considerable amount of long skirts of thin material. They were far more easy to move in than my own had been. However, I still felt quite uncomfortable in them. Especially because I was in the almost constant company of a male. Said male, however, was despite his sometimes lacking manners, very friendly. His smile was very bright, and he often helped me out, as if it was ordinary to do so. He also answered all my questions about this era. When he didn't know the answer to them, he used something he called 'Wikipedia'.

"You have a nice voice." Monsieur Simon said when he caught me humming a song. I was in de living room, dusting the furniture. I had insisted on assisting Monsieur Simon's mother in cleaning the house, in return for letting me stay here.

"How come you aren't at the conservatory anymore?" I giggled.

"I have long finished my studies. I work at an opera house." I frowned.

"That is, until recently." Monsieur Simon gave me an inquisitive look.

"You mean, you can actually sing opera?" I nodded simply.

"Can you sing me a song? An opera song?" I smiled at his awkward sentence. It was so much different from the way someone else used to ask me, almost command me, to sing. I rather liked it.

"If you insist." Monsieur Simon nodded eagerly. It made me want to do my best for him. To impress him, perhaps. I eagerly took in some air.

_Ah! je ris de me voir_

_si belle en ce miroir,_

_Ah! je ris de me voir_

_si belle en ce miroir,_

_Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?_

_Réponds-moi, réponds-moi,_

_Réponds, réponds, réponds vite!_

I took a moment to take in Monsieur Simon's appearance. I dare say he looked completely taken aback, although I wasn't quite sure if this meant if my singing I had caused the desired effect.

_Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi!_

_Non...non, ce n'est plus ton visage;_

_C'est la fille d'un roi;_

_Ce n'est plus toi,_

_Qu'on salut au passage!_

_Ah s'il était ici!_

_S'il me voyait ainsi!_

_Comme une demoiselle_

_Il me trouverait belle, Ah!_

_Comme une demoiselle,_

_Il me trouverait belle!_

I decided to end it here, in case Monsieur Simon hadn't found my singing disagreeable. I wouldn't wish to torment him.

Monsieur Simon seemed to have lost the ability to speak. He blinked rapidly, which looked rather silly.

"Are you quite well?" He smiled, his eyes far away.

"You always speak so polite. I am 'quite well'." He made a peculiar movement with his hands.

"What did you think of my song?" Monsieur Simon looked at me in a disbelieving manner.

"Do you really need to ask me? Look at my face." I stared at him blankly. He sighed.

"It was… it was." He laughed, at a loss for words.

"Awesome! You're a pro!" He decided. I did not quite understand him. He laughed.

"Figures you don't excactly know what I mean. You really are somewhat of a Victorian lady. I basically meant it was amazing. It is better than 'agreeable', the word you always use." I smiled, not sure what to make of all the happiness that I felt at that moment.

"You liked it, then, Monsieur Simon?" He sighed.

"Just call me Simon already! And of course, I liked it. Your voice is beautiful and you look so nice, so alive, when you sing." He said. I blushed, scandalized by his words. Monsieur Simon had always been a frank man, but even so, I wasn't quite used to this kind of praise. To be sure, not even Raoul had told me something like this. And Monsieur Simon showed no embarrassment at his sudden declaration at all!

"Why are you so surprised?" Monsieur Simon, pardon me, Simon, said. Then he made a gesture as if he was about to hit me. His fist softly met my upper arm. I looked at it, unsure what to do.

"I swear I thought you were used to words like this every day. Aren't you what they call a 'Prima Donna'?" I shook my head.

"That role, for the most part, was taken by another." Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Then the people who manage the opera, whoever they are, are complete idiots!"

"I wouldn't wish to call them idiots." Simon nodded.

"Good. Then I will, in your place. Really, they are nuts not to let somebody so surreal perform." Again, he was unaffected by his own words. I didn't know what to do. I felt a happiness I had never felt before.

"Maybe you should find another place to perform? Do an audition or two?" I looked around. The devices in the room still were quite unusual to me. As well as the furniture, which was plainer than what I was used to, although it's plainness put me at ease. I was more comfortable in this living room, which was about the size of my dressing room, but I wasn't used to it enough not to long for my home.

"I should get back to where I belong as soon as possible." Simon's index finger found my chin, and lifted up my head.

"And just where in the world is that? Seriously, sometimes I really think you came out of thin air." His bright blue eyes searched my expression for an answer, and I found myself without any.

"Never mind, you don't have to tell me. I feel like a creep now." He removed his index finger. Not that it was necessary for it to remain at my chin. I was unable to look away from him.

"The point is, I don't usually think much. I am not really the thinking kind of guy. But when I do use by brains, the only thing that pops up is you. You and your weird language and angel's voice." I looked at him, shocked.

"I am delighted!" I cried without thinking, before looking away, not believing I had said something so disgraceful.

"Pardon my rudeness." He chuckled.

"That, is what I meant." And before I could say another word, his lips suddenly met mine, and lingered there. I did not pull away, momentarily forgetting the consequences of it all.

Until a knock was heard by the door, followed by a voice.

"Hello, it's me, Cate!"

* * *

Living with the Changy brothers had its advantages. Servants did everything I asked, since Philippe had told them so. I soon possessed an even larger wardrobe than Monsieur had given me. When my mood was better –which it seldom was, these days- I would randomly grab one of the dresses and walk about my room like a noble lady. That was, until a maid or footman came in to make me pretend I had just dressed up for dinner. They bought it most of the time, for there was little else to do in the Changy estate, except for reading their enormous collection of books.

Philippe and Raoul often went to the opera. Officially because of Raoul's role of patron. In reality to find out more about Madame Giry, who had, as I had overheard, made her appearance, and Monsieur. Philippe probably also went because of the ballerinas.

I most of the time didn't know if I preferred them to be present, or away. When they were at home, I was afraid of the questions they might ask me, but when they were out, I was bored as hell. Or worse, left alone with my own thoughts, which contained enough question marks to even make _me_ insane.

It had not been wrong of me to interfere with what Monsieur had been about to do. He would have _killed _that ungrateful jerk of a Joseph Buquet. I had prevented a murder, yet I wasn't satisfied about it at all. I was unable to leave the estate of the Changy family – although I was allowed to visit their gigantic gardens- so I wasn't able to be with Monsieur anymore.

Wait, why would I want to be with a murderer?

Although, he hadn't technically killed Joseph Buquet. But who said he hadn't killed anyone else? Why did I feel any regrets at leaving Mister Opera's lair?

Probably because a conversation here most of the time consisted out of practical questions and a "yes" or a "no". Oh, and a "maybe later" occasionally. Sometimes, a day went by in which I hadn't talked at all, the only communication being secret glances from the servants whenever I sighed at the words of Voltaire or Plato.

Nobody said that I truly completed their hell. I received no incredulous looks. There were no servants with brooding golden eyes. I received no complaints about my endless questions. I never asked them anymore, lately. At least not out loud.

Not once had I been called "Mademoiselle" with a belittling edge to the word.

I realise these aspects all sound like something I was well rid of, but I didn't feel that way at all.

I didn't know why I felt this way. At least not for sure. Or did I? What had I felt like again, when I had left? I couldn't remember. I had been quite braindead.

I traced Socrates' words again with my index finger.

_"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing."_

That seemed appropriate for my current situation. I didn't know what the fuck I had to do for the Changy brothers to trust me. Especially when my past was concerned. I didn't know whether I had to tell them everything about Monsieur or not, because that would mean his betrayal and I _didn't know _whether I wanted to betray him or not. I didn't even know if I would betray him by sharing his secrets, because he had _pretended killing me. _Was there even anything left to betray after such a treacherous action on his behalf?

And yet, here I was, feeling bored, guilty and stabbed in the back. I missed his grumpy ways. I even woke up in the early morning, in expectation of loud organ music. The worst part about this was the actual disappointment when hearing nothing but the quiet rummaging of the servants and the whistling of the songbirds outside.

"I did not know you had such an interest in ancient Greece." I nearly jumped from the sofa –decorated with flowers- when I heard Philippe's face, his hot breath tickling my ear.

"Why you-! Don't surprise me like that. Geez."

"Geez?" The expression sounded rather foreign coming from the count. His face looked actually quite funny when he tried to say it.

"Never mind. Just don't do that again." He nodded.

"Your wish is my command, Mademoiselle. Still, you surprised me with your interest, especially considering your situation." I frowned. How did he even know anything about my situation when he hadn't found any family or connections or data on me?

Oh.

"I happen to have a lot of interests. I will soon become a philosopher." At least I hoped to be one, in the near future.

"Is that so?" He said, taking place beside me.

"Yes." He smiled a smile of the mocking kind. Doubting my chance of ever succeeding.

"How do you plan to achieve such a difficult goal?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Even in my own time I had received a lot of reaction like those. They had become one of the reasons for my wish to succeed.

"That is nothing to concern yourself about, Monsieur."

"Philippe."

"Alright, Philippe." He shook his head, his hair was just as blond as Raoul's, although a bit shorter. I expected Raoul's brother to be around twenty five years old, although I wasn't sure about his age, for he acted like a high-school playboy. Believe me, I had plenty of material to compare him with.

"You interest me." He said without further ado, proving me right without even knowing it. Or maybe he knew, being the womanizer he was.

"Just like no doubt half the female population of the Opera Populaire." He only chuckled, rather unaffected.

"Although you certainly are a lot more interesting than the rest of them."

"Just like no doubt half the female population of-" He put a finger on my lips. I hastily shoved away from him. Just because he was a count didn't mean he could just play whatever games he wanted to play with me when he was bored.

"No, this time you belong in the distinguished group of only a quarter of the female society of the opera." I grinned.

"Which is exactly how many women?"

"Around twenty, I believe?" Those poor women.

"And I haven't even danced yet." He smiled, this time it was a flirtatious one, which I rather preferred to the mocking one.

"Or sang, for that matter. Although I rather like your serious expression when playing your instrument, or reading about-" he snatched my book from my hands, which had held it rather weakly because of my lack of concentration "Socrates. I usually rather fancy women who are a little less reserved and serious. But you are an exception in regard to that, not belonging to a group of any kind." His expression became quite grave while reading.

"Is something troubling your mind?" He said, looking appalled. "I cannot imagine any other reason for reading something as dull."

"Give it back!" No doubt my face had turned the exact same colour as my hair. Partially because I was furious about Philippe offending my book.

"Your embarrassment is quite amusing." He held the book high above his head. "If you can reach it, you may have it back. Just remember, I am not doing anything wrong. After all, this book _does _belong to me."

"And yet you don't like it one bit." He shrugged.

"Part of being a noble is buying things you don't like. It is all for the sake of my reputation, I assure you. I will not pretend to like it when we are all alone, _in the future_." How I wanted to slap him.

"Since it is your book, I will not humiliate myself by reaching for it."

"And here I was, hoping to catch you in my arms." _Ugh. _Did he really think he was attractive right now? He was behaving like a total douche. Not that I had any right to think like this. I had learned to dislike a douche the hard way.

"You really aren't fooled by any of my conduct, are you, Mademoiselle Fovel? Do you not feel any temptation?" _I guess you aren't really my type._

"Do you not feel any shame at all? You are a count." He frowned.

"I do not like to be reminded of something I know perfectly well. I can behave this way because I am in my own estate in the company of a girl with less to no fortune."

"Trying to persuade her into being your mistress by mentioning her disadvantaged financial situation."

"Which could be less hopeless by an alliance." What the fuck was even happening. I felt like I was in _Pride and Prejudice _with an even jerkier, French version of Mr. Darcy. He came closer. There was no room on the sofa left to shove away, so I just tried to stand up. An arm was put around my waist to prevent this. When I came face to face with Philippe I almost thought he was going to kiss me, but he merely leaned his forehead against mine. The smirk across his face told me he had guessed my thoughts.

"I will not force you into anything. I like it better when the woman gives it to me willingly." I ignored my urge to puke.

"I am going to pretend I don't know what you mean by 'it'." His arm still prevented me from breaking free, so I was trapped in this ridiculous pose with our foreheads pressed together. Well, I thought, least his breath didn't smell.

"And just what do you think I meant?" He asked, his smug face not matching his innocent tone.

"Please just quit this. You're not going to succeed anytime soon, today. Or any day, for that matter." He chuckled.

"That is what you say now. But I believe you-" The door opened without a warning. My head cocked to the left instantly, taking in a rather worn-out looking Raoul.

"Philippe!" He cried. "Stop that! You promised me you wouldn't do this to her while I was gone." His blue eyes were big and astonished. Philippe reluctantly released me. I took a deep breath, relishing in my freedom.

"Thank you, Raoul." Raoul nodded, still appalled by his older brother, who was currently ignoring him. Probably because he had spoiled the fun which he got out of his sick hobby of trying to seduce the ladies of the opera house. And probably the women beyond the borders of the building as well.

"What happened to you? You don't look very well." I said, not unconcerned. Partially for Raoul, partially for said gentleman's antagonist who was currently residing underneath an opera house.

"I meant to inquire after a gentleman who might also have contacts with the Opera Ghost. I didn't find him, but I did suddenly find a group of children on the streets that began to throw stones at me when I was on my way to his house." He looked mortified. Had this been Simon, I would have burst out laughing in his face.

Philippe, however, did not hesitate a moment to fabricate enough laughter for two. I, meanwhile, wondered whether Monsieur would stoop as low as sending children out to do his dirty work. It could have been just a coincidence.

"It is probably just a bad neighbourhood." Philippe said, always the man to think of images. "Besides, you wouldn't just let a group of brats stop you from finding out the truth?" Raoul shook his head, exasperated.

"Of course I wouldn't! But The Persian was not at home. And I had already checked the opera first. So I was quite at a loss what to do."

"Who is The Persian? And did you not ask the managers?" Philippe scoffed.

"The managers are far too busy counting their money than to worry about who goes in and out of the opera." I huffed. I didn't need his smart ass comment. How should I have known the managers didn't know how to actually manage.

Okay, maybe I could've expected it.

"I was talking to Raoul."

"Which is a total waste of time for you, except from moments when you are willing to reveal information about our dear Phantom." Raoul took a step in my direction at this.

"That would be very helpful, Mademoiselle Fovel." They both stared at me expectantly. What did they want me to say? The Phantom is not actually an evil freak. He actually knits scarves for hobos and loves animals. When he is not pulling harmless pranks on the residents of the opera house he bakes cupcakes at the patisserie around the corner, which is called Destler's Delights.

"I don't know if I will be able to answer your questions." I said, hesitatingly.

"Where does he live?" Asked Raoul at about the same moment as Philippe exclaimed "What is his name?"

"I am not exactly sure where he lives." I said truthfully. I had been blindfolded, after all. "All I know is that there are secret passages within the opera house which lead to his domain, which could be in one of the cellars." The opera house had many cellars, I had come to understand, so this way, they still wouldn't know where he lived for sure.

"He could also have another address outside of the opera house." Philippe pondered.

"Maybe two or more." Raoul said, hopelessly.

"And his name?" Philippe inquired.

"I do not know his first name." I began, which nearly drove Raoul to despair. He received a calming pat on his shoulder from Philippe.

"But," braced myself for the guilt I would feel after this, "I came to understand his last name is Destler. Although I am not sure it is his real last name." Raoul's eyes flickered with hope. He was so bipolar. I guess having the girl you loved abducted does that to you.

"I will immediately make inquiries about his name." Philippe said, decidedly, playing the older brother again. No doubt he had done the same with my name. The count winked at me, and left the room.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Fovel." I shrugged.

"I figured I ought to do something in return for treating me so kindly." I lied. Although he had been kind to me, he had done it out of concern for Christine. And I had done this only to get back at Monsieur. To prove I wasn't actually feeling like a traitor.

"You must feel quite afraid of the Opera Ghost." Afraid? I had been in the beginning. It had faded into wariness over time, only to hit me when I stopped him from murder.

At the moment, I wasn't afraid of the Opera Ghost. I was just really pissed at him.

"I am quite unpleased with him, at the moment."

"Unpleased!" Cried Raoul. "Good heavens, Mademoiselle. You make the whole situation sound like a mere quarrel." I shrugged.

"It was no mere quarrel, but it is already surprising he didn't harm me." There hadn't even been bruises around my neck. The only pain I had received had been the mental kind.

"Perhaps, there is hope for Chrsitine, then." Raoul pondered. The bags under his eyes had darkened. His hair was a mess, and he smelled of adrenaline- pity they hadn't discovered deodorant yet. I pitied him, he didn't deserve this torment. In my stupid empathy, I made a giant blunder.

"I don't believe Christine Daaé to be in that much danger." He eyed me, disbelieving my words.

"Not in that much danger? When within the grasp of that madman? Are you out of your mind? My spirit will not rest before I have freed her!" I made a gesture.

"Hold your horses! I don't think she is in his company, at present. That is all I can say, for now." Raoul stepped towards me.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I must know. Tell me where you believe she resides." He said, grabbing my hands.

"If you fear the Opera Ghost will find you, rest assured, for I will command the servants to protect you. You can, without anything to distress you, tell me all you know." I sighed. What had I done, this way I would only drive Raoul mad, for I couldn't possible tell him the truth, could I?

"You will not believe me, Monsieur!" He shook his head.

"Yes I will! Anything, anything will make more sense than the rumours I have heard in the last few days. Christine Daaé's body was found in the Seine. Christine Daaé was seen at The Persian's house. Christine Daaé is getting married to Philippe the Changy! As if my brother would ever get married at all!" He clasped his head with both his hands. He was tired, concerned and desperate. I was, together with The Persian, his last hope. He wasn't as sly as his brother. He was an innocent man in love with a girl who had somehow been switched for this sorry excuse of a philosopher.

"Before I tell you a fraction of what I suspect to be the truth, you will have to make a promise. If I ever notice you broke it, I will not tell you the rest of what I know." He nodded, forgetting his tired state because of this new-found hope. He had grabbed my hands again without noticing. I squeezed them.

"First things first. I know this isn't about me, but this question will only serve to make you understand this strange history. I am unusual, am I not?" To my surprise, he nodded eagerly.

"You are quite extraordinary. I often wondered about your sudden appearance. I had never seen you before, and then you were at the opera without any recommendations except for that of the Ghost! As if you have just appeared out of plain air! But people do not suddenly appear out of plain air! And ghosts do not exist!" He said fanatically. I smiled weakly.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that one. The thing is, I don't really know how I got here in the first place. No, don't look at me like that. Just believe me, please. I didn't believe it at first, either. I thought it was all a dream." I paused, trying to think of the best way to get my story across, without revealing everything.

"Go on!" Raoul said. Drops of sweat had appeared on his handsome face.

"Believe it or not, I had been comfortably at home before, only to appear in _his _lair the next moment." That sounded like a first-rate crock-story. Then again, the whole situation resembled a first-rate crock-story, so it kinda fit in.

"Did you see Christine?" He asked, without ever pausing to think of the unlikeliness of it all. Perhaps he had grown used to impossible scenarios.

"No, I didn't, but I have reason to believe _he _was holding her captive, before, for he started asking me where Chirstine had went to." Suddenly, with the speed of lightning, another crock-story appeared in my mind.

"I was quite afraid, you know, to suddenly appear there, but you see, I think I have found the explanation for the whole situation." Raoul's face came close –a little too close, if you ask me- to my own.

"He called himself the "Trap Door Lover" one day. As if it were a title of some sort. At any rate, our room – my family renting it is not registered anywhere- is in the opera house, given to us by an acquaintance which we met once we came to France." I had always dreamt of trading my boring-ass neighbourhood for a big city.

"Our room being in the opera house, I believe there might have been a trapdoor installed in the past by Monsieu- I mean, the Ghost, about which he could have forgotten. Maybe it is not always activated. I am not quite sure, but it would be the only explanation for my sudden appearance in the lair." Raoul nodded, not entirely dismissing the idea.

"You believe, you went there by accident?" I nodded.

"I believe he found me, underground, and took me with him. I must have become unconscious after my fall. Meanwhile, I think Christine escaped and found her way to the trapdoor, and my house. In that case, she will be safe, for my family is civil, despite the fact we are unregistered immigrants." Did he buy it? I wasn't sure, but he seemed to find it a possibility. Quite a preferable possibility, that is. He opened his mouth to say something else but I stopped him.

"Please keep in mind I do not wish for us to barge into the room of my family. I don't want them to have anything to do with the Opera Ghost. He sees and hears a lot, and if his attention would be altered towards my family members…" Raoul nodded understandingly, ever the gentleman.

"I understand. But I cannot think of another way to reach Chirstine!" I sighed, in a resigning manner. I had thought about this, too. I wanted to go back home. I had had enough of living in the past. And I figured, the only way to go back to my own time, might just be the way I had come here. I didn't know what I would have to do next, but there could be a possibility that the only way for me to return was to use the lair.

"Let us go to the lair together. I will find the passage to my house, and bring Christine back."

"But then, then she will surely fall into the hands of that maniac!" I shook my head.

"Not if we are both present. He knows me, and will not harm me." At least, I believed so. He had warned me he wouldn't spare me, the next time I was to cross him, but I hadn't believed him . The Opera Ghost would either always spare you, or he wouldn't. I had noticed as much, in the movie.

"You are quite determent to help, are you not? But how do you plan to go back into the lair, without knowing where it is located?" I smiled weakly.

"I believe there will be a ball soon?" Raoul let go of my house, dumbfounded.

"I cannot see the connection between-"

"He will not be easily caught, but I am sure he will attend, he let through as much. If we just happen to be there, and he will notice me, I am sure his pride will not let him ignore me. He will take me with him, and you could be sure to follow." Raoul frowned, not entirely naïve. Monsieur had never mentioned anything about the ball, but I was quite sure that his dissatisfaction about the management of the opera was enough to make sure he would attend. It was also quite impossible for Raoul to follow Monsieur. At least, if everything would happen the same way as it had done in the movie.

"How can I know this is not planned by the Opera Ghost, you are after all, someone who lived with him. Besides, how can you be so certain he will not notice Philippe and myself?" I grinned.

"I have trusted you with this, Monsieur, now it is your turn to trust me. And it is a masked ball." A hint of recognition appeared in his bright blue eyes.

"The annual masked ball! Of course." I did not feel guilty about his hopefulness. After all, according to my own suspicions, Christine would most likely return to this place if I would ever find a way to leave. It would, however, leave her in the hands of Monsieur. Then again, if Monsieur wanted her to sing, he would be forced to let her go, and the story would go on again, as if I had never been here. Deceiving Raoul was for the best. He would thank me later. If he wouldn't totally forget about me in Christine's presence.

"Now, please remember, I wanted you to make a promise." I said. For there was someone who could ruin my totally far-fetched plan.

"Do. Not. Tell. Philippe."

If he would found out about this, he would find holes in my plan, as well as in my own made-up history. He would go searching for my family and my room himself. He would make inquiries after my family. And I would be in a lot of trouble.

* * *

So, I wasn't exactly allowed to go outside, except for when I was chaperoned by the two of them. Raoul had asked Philippe if I could join the masked ball, pretending it had been his own idea. Philippe, although he had been suspicious for his brother to even have the time to think about such matters when he was constantly worried about Christine, had given his permission. On one condition. He would choose , and buy, my dress.

Which meant the beginning of The Fitting Sessions of Doom.

I didn't even call it that because of the actual fitting, which could take hours –not to mention all those people _touching _me -, or the fact that we visited an amount of stores which I gave up counting early in the process. No, the actual doom was in the _things _that Philippe chose. You would be surprised too by his ability to find revealing dresses in the 19th century. But they definitely were there. Luckily, Raoul filtered his brother's choices. Leaving me with less skimpy stuff. If I was really lucky, Raoul would complain the colour wouldn't suit me, so I would be able to get on with the next terror. As if Philippe's creepy face during all this wasn't enough.

By the time the sun began to set, Raoul and his brother had decided on the dress. I was left in the dark about this with the scariest assumptions, for Philippe wanted it all to be a surprise. On our way to the carriage, a silhouette from behind a brick wall, just next to the last store we had visited, caught my eye. His astrakhan cap stood out, after all. Not to mention his dark skin colour. When he saw me, he ran away. Philippe looked around, alarmed at the sound of running feet. Raoul, who had been engaged in a conversation with him, followed his lead. Philippe had been in time to see the man's coat disappear around the corner, and began to follow the mysterious man. Raoul followed suit, leaving me alone with the servants. I heard a groan, followed by a curse form Philippe.

When the brothers returned, there clothes were creased and their heads sweaty. I remembered my own attempts to pursue someone in 18th century fashion, and pitied them.

"Who was that man?" I asked, remembering a different evening with the same man with an astrakhan cap. Raoul and Philippe exchanged looks. Philippe nodded at him.

"I believe it was The Persian. He is always at the opera, for no reason in particular. Lately, however, we have started to suspect he has something to do with the Ghost." I nodded. It made sense. After all, he had evidently known about Monsieur when I met him. I didn't know if I was ready to share that information yet.

"Our suspicions are only proven by his actions." Philippe added. "We have recently been even more present at the opera, to find him. He has probably heard we were looking for him. Another possibility could be that he shares information with the Opera Ghost about you." I nodded. I had been afraid of that. Monsieur was not quite the man to forget those that opposed him.

"We will have to watch you closely, at the ball. And maybe ask our acquaintances to keep an eye on you as well." I nodded understandingly, knowing the chance to get back to Monsieur's lair would shrink, and so would my chance to ever escape this story.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am not a Satanist. I don't think I need to explain that here, but you never know. The reason why I make Rosalie dress the way she does, was because of some of Erik's remarks earlier in the story. Anyway, thanks for reading! **

**The Swap **

**Chapter 8: In which I meet death**

Despite the imminent danger which I had willingly brought upon myself, I was quite excited for the ball. Even though there was an even larger probability that Monsieur would be there, since his apparent accomplice –even though he had helped me saving Joseph Buquet- The Persian, had been spying on us. Philippe had taught me several things about balls and manners, assuming I was new to the social events of the elite of the 19th century. He had also taught me something else.

"For such a splendid musician you have no sense of rhythm." He had said, rubbing his leg, which had been hit by one of my heavy shoes earlier. How could anyone expect me to dance with those heels, anyway?

While rubbing his leg, he backed away from me, looking almost scared.

"Funny, you had no scruples to get close to me before," I had replied angrily.

"I have learned my lesson, in that regard. I cannot wait to be freed." I had known there was no truth to his words however. It was perfectly evident that he did as he pleased, so if he really hadn't enjoyed this 'dancing lesson', or rather, excuse to touch me, he had quit it long ago.

He was, because of that, a patient teacher, which had actually given me the opportunity to learn a thing or two, despite the original motive. I had not become a pro, or anything, but I believed my new skills would allow me not to make a fool of myself.

At least, so I thought, until the three maids visited my room –which had a bed twice as large as the swan bed, by the way- to tell me it was time to get dressed. Yes, I needed these people to get dressed, or else I would perish in muslin. I had found out as much when I had been dragged to the shops by the Changy brothers.

The maids had brought several boxes with them. Needless to say, knowing Philippe's tastes, I was terrified of what would be revealed by them.

My fears were justified, but not in the way I had expected them to be. The dress was red, with silver embroidery, and it was soon joined by a mask, which covered only my forehead and the skin around my eyes. It had two horns adjusted to it. The reason for my fears being justified, however, was not the vision of myself being delivered to the masked ball as a rococo demon. It was the notion that the colour of the dress, as well as it's style, resembled the Phantom's –at least in the movie- way too much.

"Is it to your liking, Mademoiselle?" the maid holding the mask ask. I wanted to scream at her, asking how she would feel when some douchebag had decided she would go to a social event with an abundance of rich people as a demon, which was probably even against their faith.

Despite those though, I nodded, forcing a smile. The maid couldn't really do anything about all of this anyway.

When the maids had finished dressing me up, they stared at me. I had been given an onyx necklace, which looked even darker against my skin, which was awfully pale. I had also been given some silver gloves and onyx earrings. My hair had been half tied up with a ribbon, so they were still visible. Since I had natural curls, the maids had laid their curling materials aside. The dress was one of those frilly models, but it revealed my chest a bit too much to my liking. Still, it was a lot better than some of the other models Philippe had sought out. No doubt Raoul had played a part in this. I made a mental note to thank him later.

I twirled around, something I always liked to do in dresses like this. After that, examined myself further. One of the maids handed me my mask.

"You look beautiful, Mademoiselle," A maid with round glasses said.

"Thank you." I didn't think I looked beautiful. I do admit I looked quite intimidating. I mean, if I would see myself walking down the street I would think it to be pretty gutsy to wear this. Besides, in the candlelight –I would never be released from my fear of candles if I didn't leave this story soon- my hair glowed, like fire. It truly possessed, together with my red dress, some sort of mysterious, almost diabolic aura.

I grinned creepily at myself in the mirror. The maids giggled.

"If you will do that to one of the men there, he will surely faint," the maid with the glasses said.

* * *

I didn't have to grin to make Raoul appear as if he was about to faint. Philippe didn't share his sentiments. He didn't look like he was going to pass out, he looked like he was going to eat me.

"_Et Satan conduit le bal!_ You have exceeded my expectations," he said, and I caught him glancing at my twins, knowledge I had rather lived without. What had he been singing earlier?

"In more ways than one, apparently," I replied dryly, taking a step back when he was about to sneakily take my arm. Raoul, without a word, gave me his, giving his brother an angry look.

"Was that a line from an opera?" I asked Raoul, for I didn't really feel like talking to his brother.

"It was from Mephistopheles's aria in _Faust_," Raoul replied curtly. I noticed the floret on his belt. He had come prepared. He even wore something which resembled his uniform, or maybe it _was _his uniform? I had never really known what the Changy family did, aside from being rich. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to know. Philippe was wearing a uniform as well, but not all his buttons had been tied. I didn't really want to ask why.

Both gentleman's suits were in dark blue and gold. Raoul's hair was pulled into a tail. Philippe's hair had been put into place with pomade. In their uniforms, they kinda reminded me of the Nutcracker.

"I am quite surprised you didn't recognise it," Philippe said mockingly.

"Well, to be honest, my interest in music has always neighed towards the instrumental kind." At least, to play. When it came to playing around with my voice, I had always preferred pop songs. For the amount of opera arias I could sing with my voice type was close to none.

"Such a shame, I believe you would make a lovely Prima Donna. Or choir girl," Philippe said. No doubt thinking up gross scenarios about it. I only sighed as we got in the carriage. The ride was a long one, and I was glad to see fireworks coming from the opera house in the distance.

* * *

The opera house was more beautiful than ever. When I arrived, I had the feeling I had been caught in a fairy tale, instead of a story about a psycho killer. The ballroom was about as enchanting as Monsieur's lair. The figures which decorated the chandeliers and the stairs, seemed more cheerful and almost cosy in the candlelight, which emphasized their golden colours.

Not to mention the actual living beings in the ball room, dancing away and chatting on the checked floor. I saw Marie Antoinette, a lot of jesters, a lady that looked like a peacock and a whole ensemble of dancers in black and white, scattered around the room. I guessed they were the ones that would perform the dance with the fans on the stairs later.

After giving away my scarf to an employee, Raoul handed me something that I can only describe as a hand bag. Although much prettier. It was a small red one, with silver, floral decorations.

"What is this?" He smiled faintly.

"This is a reticule. It's something all ladies use. Look inside." I did as he said and found a small book. It was made out of metal and also had floral decorations. A small pencil was stuck inside. I opened it.

My eye fell first upon the decorations. Jet again a lot of jesters. They were all in black. The front page said:

BAL-MASQUÉ.

And as I turned the pages I read names that belonged to dances, as I knew from experience of playing some of them. What I didn't completely understand at first were the empty pages next to them, the only thing written being 'ENGAGEMENTS'.

Oh wait, they weren't completely empty. _Someone _had prevented that. Half of second page said nothing but Philippe de Changy's name. Oh, and there was one Raoul there too. That was nice of him.

"Please don't tell me I actually have to dance all of these with Philippe," I said, as I turned to the next page in hopes of finding them empty, so that I could sneak around the opera house, or eat the delicious-looking food.

Raoul only gave me a look of pity as I realised that the next page contained an abundance of Philippes yet again. Not even Raoul's name was present.

Then, something strange caught my eye. Another handwriting so elegant, yet spidery, I had mistook it as one of the drawings in the book, at first.

_Monsieur_

My heart skipped a beat.

I realised it was written in the darkest shade of red, almost indistinguishable from the black ink of all the Philippes.

My first instinct was to close the book. Raoul or Philippe really, really couldn't see that.

When Raoul in surprise said why I had closed it so suddenly I had blamed by annoyance regarding Philippe, and the eagerness to dance in this enchanting environment.

Dancing with Philippe turned out to be absolutely mortifying. Which didn't surprise me at all. He constantly tried to grab certain body parts the second he thought I wasn't paying attention. Not to mention he made me trip on purpose only so he could catch me in his arms. Then, I would longingly look at the normal –as far as everything was normal that night- dance partners, laughing, teasing each other, or looking like a queen and king dancing in a palace.

It made me conscious of how we looked. A devil together with a perverse Nutcracker.

After four dances with Philippe, I was happy to take a break in the relaxation of Raoul's company. He hadn't been exactly nice to me in the beginning, but I had come to really appreciate him because of his older brother.

Yet, it felt wrong to dance this Polka with him, when my mind drifted to Christine's dress in the movie. Innocent pink with roses. Raoul seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Thank you again, for helping me provide information about Christine." I smiled sadly.

"I hope she will be with you again soon." I really meant that. Even though it would mean leaving this place for ever.

"Maybe even tonight," he whispered hopefully, a mischievous look appearing in his eyes. For a moment, I wanted to tell him about my ball book. But maybe I didn't have to, for both Philippe and Raoul would watch me closely, and definitely wouldn't miss it if Monsieur were to make me dance with him. Besides, somehow, even after all that had happened, it thrilled me that Monsieur had done this.

Yeah, fucked up. I know.

"It is like she bewitched him," I heard someone whisper. My eyes darted around the room to find a girl with a pearl white mask and raven black hear, pointing her gloved finger at me. I just turned around like nothing happened when she gave me a provoking look. I guess it really looked like that in this get-up. An innocent man in uniform together with a demon. It made a lot more sense than a perverted Nutcracker.

I saw the manager's with their giant horns stride around with two woman with white wigs. Philippe was dancing with someone I believe was called La Sorelli. La Carlotta was talking loudly with Piangi and Meg Giry looked completely adorable her angel costume. When she saw me admiring her, she smiled faintly. After all, we were dressed as opposites.

For a second, I felt like I belonged here, although I took Christine's place. I let myself indulge in the gleeful atmosphere, which only grew when the figures in black and white began dancing down the stairs and Raoul bowed and let go of my hand. I saw Philippe was still occupied with La Sorelli. But an old man with whiskers and an hourglass on his suit was watching me with squinted eyes. Perhaps one of the acquaintances Philippe had been talking about?

I saw the gentleman in black next to him, his face completely covered by a simple silver mask, make his way through the crowd. As he came closer, I noticed a red pochet in the pocket of his Colbert.

At first, I thought this was someone sent by Philippe to keep an eye on me, because neither Philippe nor Raoul seemed alarmed by the stranger.

He bowed, offering me a hand covered in red velvet. I only noticed his eyes when he looked up. Gold surrounded by silver.

"May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?"

And then, I, as stupid as it may sound, forgot about the ordeal of the Punjab. I forgot about Raoul, Philippe and Christine. Hell, I think if someone would have asked me for my name, I would have forgotten that too.

I wordlessly gave him my hand. He didn't just take it, he grabbed it, in almost an eager manner.

And then we were dancing.

This time, I didn't have to whack some groping hands off me every two seconds. Neither was it comfortable and tranquil. No, I was overly conscious of that arm on my back. And his eyes watching me. I had no eyes for the environment anymore. I hardly dared to speak. I was only capable of staring at Monsieur. So simply dressed, yet so present.

_Was this what Christine went through?_

That was what I thought, was we Waltzed through the ball room.

"I do hope, Mademoiselle, that your time at the Changy residence has been agreeable thus far."

It took me a second to realise he was talking. When I did, it made me frown.

"Some people's company there is more agreeable than others'."

"It must be, when you prefer those surroundings above others." Oh, I got it, he was being an ass about the fact I had ran away. It made me blush. Thank god I had that mask on.

"I believe it to be a less _perilous_ environment." He grinned.

"I think you may be correct in assuming so. Yet in my experience, you _attract _peril." I thought I was going to die when he said that, while he had his arm around me, and he was still looked at me and everything. I bit my lip unconsciously. We were both enjoying this conversation way too much.

As we passed a marble pillar, I saw the confetti fall above the dancers in black and white from the corner of my eye. I found myself able to speak again as I slowly remembered the history between Monsieur and myself. Then, all of a sudden, the hand on my back disappeared, together with all sound in the opera house.

My eyes darted around the ball room. Monsieur was nowhere to be found. All laughter had ceased. The dancers, including those on the stairs, were standing still.

All eyes were on a figure in red, on the highest step.

How on earth had he done _that_?

I knew he was the Phantom and all, but how could he be in one place one moment and in a different one the next?

Not to mention the change of outfits.

I mean, geez. He was wearing a large feathered had, with a skull mask underneath, complete with underjaw, which made him look like a talking skeleton. And he was wearing all red.

He dragged his long cape with him as he walked down the steps. In one arm, he held a scroll.

"Here I bring the finished score," he said, grinning like a madman.

"Don Juan Triumphant!"

After that, Monsieur drew his floret and began to poke Piangi –dressed like a sultan, which fitted him very well- and Carlotta with it.

"Carlotta must be taught to act! Not her normal trick of strutting around the stage." I almost giggled at Carlotta's shocked expression.

As the Phantom reprimanded the managers, they stared at him in horror and disbelief. I noticed some commotion behind me. As I turned around, I saw Raoul was trying to hold Philippe back from running towards me.

"As for you," I heard the Phantom's voice say.

I guess the Changy brothers must have noticed the outstretched hand, covered in black, earlier than I had. Because it was there, waiting for me, when my attention turned to the Red Death once more.

Who would have thought returning to the Phantom's lair would be this easy, I thought. Fire suddenly surrounded us, as I took Monsieur's hand and let him take me into the cellars of the opera once again, the sound of screams deafening my ears.


	9. Chapter 9

The Swap

**Chapter 9: In which I tell**

Monsieur Simon patted my shoulder and walked to the door, letting in a girl with an abundance of blonde hair.

"Hey Sims, where the hell is Rosa? I have been trying to contact her for days and- OH MY HOLY JESUS."

Mademoiselle Cate stared at me in shock -as I did at her, for she had used the name of the Lord in vain. Monsieur Simon seemed to not understand what had surprised Miss Cate as well.

"Wait what?" he said, dumbfounded. Mademoiselle Cate looked at him.

"Oh, nothing for a moment I thought I saw – HOLY COW," she said as she looked at me again.

"DUDE. WHAT THE FUCK IS EMMY ROSSUM DOING AT YOUR HOUSE."

"Emmy Rossum?"

I stared at Mademoiselle Cate.

"I don't think I am acquainted with this person."

Mademoiselle Cate blinked, her mouth agape. I began to worry about her health. She seemed quite ill-disposed.

"Sims, did she just say 'acquainted'?" Poor Monsieur Simon only nodded.

"I am sorry I do not meet your expectations, Mademoiselle. My name is Christine Daaé, not Emmy Rossum."

Mademoiselle Cate rubbed her eyes.

"I am dreaming , only dreaming. This is not really happening."

"Cate, I admit she acts a little strange, but this is just plain rude, ya know," Monsieur Simon said. He was starting to grow angry. It made me sad to see it.

"But Sims, she says she is CHRISTINE DAAÉ. And she totally looks like Emmy Rossum. How the fuck do you expect me to calm down?"

"Who IS Emmy Rossum? And what's wrong with her name, huh?" Mademoiselle Cate hit herself on the forehead. I hoped she hadn't injured herself.

"THE FUCKING HEROINE OF THE PHANTOM OF THE FUCKING OPERA!" An unhealthy red colour spread over Mademoiselle Cate's face.

"Would you please calm down? It is not healthy for you to get so angry," I said, scared by her behaviour.

"What is a 'Phantom of the fucking Opera'?" Monsieur enquired almost at the same time.

"Oh my god," Mademoiselle Cate thought aloud, "the last time I spoke her I asked her to watch it."

"The last time you spoke to who? Watch what?" Monsieur Simon's face reddened as well.

"Rosalie, you smart-ass! And '_The Phantom of the Opera_'!" Mademoiselle cate said as she removed her coat and threw it on the sofa, on which Monsieur Simon and myself had –I am quite ashamed to write it- kissed earlier.

"Oh! That's the film that was on Rosalie's laptop before she disappeared on us."

"Before she WHAT?" Mademoiselle Cate screamed. Then, she looked at me. She took me in from head to toe, which made me feel quite uncomfortable.

"Since when is our dear Emmy here?"

"Her name's not Emmy it's-"

"Answer the FUCKING question."

"Since the day Rosalie disappeared." Mademoiselle Cate's face was no longer red. On the contrary, she grew pale.

"I think Rosalie got exchanged for Christine Daaé. And it's all my fault."

"What do you mean by that?" Monsieur Simon and I asked at the same time. We stared at each other for a moment and smiled. I had never felt so happy as at that moment, when I saw that light in his eyes. I knew I was in a place I belonged.

Yet, I was very worried about Monsieur Simon's sister, Mademoiselle Rosalie.

Mademoiselle Cate grabbed a device - I believe was called an Eye-Pet- from the wooden table. She typed something, and handed it over to Monsieur Simon. I walked to the spot beside him and looked at an image of myself, together with a figure I recognised very well.

'_The Phantom of the Opera_'

_By Andrew Lloyd Webber_

_Original plot by Gaston Leroux_

Monsieur Simon tore his gaze away from the image.

"I thought I recognized you from somewhere." I shook my head. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.

"I don't understand. Who are Monsieur Lloyd and Monsieur Leroux?" Mademoiselle Cate simply shook her head.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Christine 'cause it's extremely epic to meet you and all, but you're fictional."

What?

"But, but I am flesh and blood! I feel, I hear, I sing. I am here, at this moment. How could I ever be fictional?" Mademoiselle Cate sighed.

"Well, not as fictional as I thought you were, which is kinda awesome. And I know you can sing, really. Before we get Rosalie back, I really want to hear that."

"So, you're saying that, while Chris is here, Rosalie is in that movie?" Monsieur Simon asked. Mademoiselle Cate nodded.

"Yes, why else would she be offline for days? Not to mention she is not anywhere near her house. Have you guys even looked for her?" That last question was asked rather accusingly.

Monsieur Simon avoided the eyes of Mademoiselle Cate, who, as I came to understand, was a friend of Mademoiselle Rosalie.

"Figures. Your mother must be worried sick. Anyway. I want Rosa back. No matter how much I like Chrissie here, not to mention how obsessed I am with the Phantom, Rosa is way more important. So, I wanna get her back."

I suddenly felt a protective arm around my shoulders.

"Does that mean Christine has to go back to that Phantom story?" Mademoiselle Cate placed her hands on her hips.

"'That Phantom story' is one of the most famous stories ever. Christine doesn't belong here. Rosalie does."

"I read a part of the plot on that page just now. That Phantom guy sounds nuts. I'm not gonna let Chris go back to him!"

Mademoiselle Cate eyed the both of us and sighed heavily.

"Oh God. Please don't say you've fallen in love with her." I blushed heavily.

"I won't have to, you already know."

"You don't have to be scared of anything bad happening to her. Sure, some scary shit will happen, but for her, it will end well." I couldn't help feeling there was some reproach in that last sentence.

But I dare say I was relieved to hear that I would do well in the story.

"How does it end, then?" Monsieur Simon asked wearily.

Mademoiselle Cate looked at me.

"I'll let you read it, but don't say anything to her. It might change things."

Monsieur Simon's eyes grew bigger with each line he read on _Wikipedia_.

"No way in hell am I going to let her go back!"

"Sims! She doesn't belong with you. I'm sorry, but it's true." It made me very sad to hear that, because I felt I did in fact belong with Simon. Not with the Phantom of the Opera, Raoul or any other person.

"I don't care. She's here, with me, not there." Mademoiselle Cate made an exasperated gesture.

"No, she isn't. You know who is? Your sister!" Monsieur Simon watched her, speechless.

"Rosalie is there," she pointed at the Eye-Pet, "with the Phantom, who is awesome, but SO fucked-up and SO dangerous. And I am SO worried about her. Rosalie is a smart girl, and probably tries to stay away from him, but what if she somehow encountered him? He kills everyone who gets too close to where he lives!"

Monsieur Simon grew pale.

"But… we can't be sure about that. Perhaps she is already happily married to that Raoul guy."

"That would make you happy, wouldn't it? You wouldn't have to compete with him anymore," Mademoiselle Cate screamed.

"PLEASE STOP!" I cried.

"For heaven's sake. You are both acting most disturbing. If you want me to go, Monsieur Simon, Mademoiselle Cate, I will go." I faced Simon and took his hand with my own.

"My dear Simon, I cannot stay here when your sister is in danger. She needs you, and you need her too. So does Mademoiselle Cate."

Monsieur Simon squeezed my hand.

"Even if I would let you go, how would we even get you back?"

* * *

I was breathless. Not only by Monsieur's proximity, but also by the smoke of the fire that had appeared. Monsieur Destler had pressed me against himself and when he let go, I was kinda dazzled. It was hard to get used to the dark cellars when you had been standing in a fully lit ball room.

I only noticed the mirrors when Monsieur pushed me through one. After that, I was left alone in the dark, but I heard some screaming, and daggers smashing against each other. I guess Raoul had followed him here, just like I had seen him do in the movie.

Just like he and I had arranged him to do.

I felt guilty, but told myself it had been the only way for him to know a little more about Christine's whereabouts. And for me to get here. Even though I didn't know exactly if everything would work out. My plan was vague after this point. Just like it had been since the beginning. But I knew, I just knew that if I wanted to go, I would have to do it the same way I had entered.

Red Death appeared behind me as soon as the sound of fighting ceased.

"This dress becomes you. Oh yes, it does. It makes your true nature shine through."

That was something to say for someone who had been called the 'Devil's child'.

"I don't like the way you are looking at me right now."

His expression contained resentment, as well as triumph. It flashed through his golden eyes.

"You don't?" he said. For once, it was him who had started asking the questions. Although it had been a rhetorical question.

"You were told, to play the notes I handed to you. You ran away. Do you know what happens to those who run away?"

Rhetorical question again.

He seemed annoyed at my lack of fear.

"They stay with me for ever. One way, or another."

_One way_

_Or another_

_I'm gonna find ya_

I shook my head in an attempt to make the song get out of my head.

Didn't he realise he would make everything easier for me? I was where I had to be in order to leave. Which was, ironically, where the Phantom thought I could be kept from leaving.

"What, you don't like it?" he said when he saw me shake my head. I laughed.

"Seriously? You think you are going to manage putting up with me for so long? I make you go crazy! You said so yourself, you can't handle my endless questions."

"I already told you," he said, grabbing the front of my dress and pulling me close to him, "one way, or another."

Oh.

"Well," I said to his angry Phantom face, which didn't affect me as much as it used to, anymore, "you had the chance already. I thought for sure you were going to do it, but you didn't. So, I ran away, all angry and scared. But you know what ? I think I figured it out. You CAN'T kill me."

The Phantom let out a sound that resembled a growl.

"I CAN. I could prove that to you right now." I laughed again, which only made him strengthen his hold on my dress. It didn't scare me how close I was to his face, covered by an artificial skull.

"Maybe you can, but you wouldn't. You know why?" He didn't respond. He just kept glaring daggers at me.

"Because you are attached to me!" I yelled in triumph. His eyes widened dramatically.

"You DARE to even believe that, and say it to my face?" His eyes grew cold. But I didn't care.

"Yes I do! That's why you danced with me, isn't it? That's why you took me with you even if you are well rid of me! You don't necessarily need another cellist. You can just make the managers get a new one."

"Which would be more expensive," the Opera Ghost replied.

"Not if you would hand in a part of that salary of yours." He frowned.

"I am not attached to you." I grinned as I felt him let go of me.

"Yes, you are." He grabbed a torch.

"No, I am not. I would almost think, because of the ruckus you make, that you are in fact attached to me." He looked at me in triumph. I was speechless and felt my face heat up.

"I am not," was all I could say. An evil laugh echoed through the Opera House.

So, after that awkward ordeal, something even worse happened. Everyone's favourite Opera Ghost was on a mysterious mission – sometimes I really wondered if he was actually doing something Opera Ghostly or just getting us some food, it was always hard to tell if he was carrying something underneath his cloak. I found myself with little more to do than searching for a way out.

So, walls were banged, levers were pulled –I nearly killed myself- , books were pulled out – and sometimes read-, and mysterious objects were studied. I even, in my desperation, tried playing some instruments. In the depths of my despair I saw a way back to my own world in anything and nothing. I got this desperation, because I had this gut feeling that my chances of leaving might be ruined once the ending of the story. What if everything would just cease to exist at the point where the movie had ended. Would that be the end of me as well?

I grew more frustrated by the minute and banged the piano in frustration, hoping Monsieur wasn't close enough to hear. Because, that would certainly mean my death. In the heat of emotion, I loved to play an instrument, or even better, sing my throat soar.

And right at that moment. Carlotta's voice echoed through the whole building, pushing me almost to the brink of madness. Why couldn't the stupid woman shut up?

Oh fuck it, Monsieur wouldn't be here anyway. I might as well let out some steam.

_Would you do anything for me _

_Buy a big diamond ring for me_

_Would you get down on your knees for me _

_Pop that pretty question right now baby_

It was kind of hard to remember all the lyrics. Especially after spending all my time in the Opera House. The next sentence I screamed really loud.

_I know I've got a big ego_

_I really don't know why it's such a big deal though_

I giggled for a moment at the intensity of my voice, which I had never noticed before. My resentment echoed right through the sound.

'_Cause I'm a prima donna girl_

_All I ever wanted was the world _

_I can't help that I need it all_

_The prima donna life the rise and fall_

_You say that I'm kind of difficult_

_But it's always someone else's fault_

_Got you wrapped around my finger babe_

_You can count on me to misbehave_

I sighed. As if on cue, Carlotta's voice had ceased. I decided this had been enough. My throat wasn't used to this. Just then, I heard a faint clapping noise.

'Such an atrocious song. It becomes you.'

I would recognise his voice anywhere and anytime. Yet again, it was impossible to see if the Phantom had brought something. Well, until he put his cloak onto a golden coat stand, revealing a sack.

"For how long have you been listening?" I asked fearfully.

"Long enough to notice your resentment for a certain prima donna." I sighed, figuring he wouldn't say anything about my singing abilities. It had been embarrassing enough to find out he had heard everything as it was.

"And to finally have stand-in for an alto who has been having a cold for days."

Fuck.

"I can't sing," I objected.

"You have proven me otherwise." What was it about this man that he always had to take whatever musician he found to a stage?

"On a stage. In front of people. In an Opera House." He grinned evilly.

"You are good enough to play the part." I shook my head, growing paler by the minute.

"Listen, Opera dude. I can play any piece on the cello. Anything at all. But I really, really don't want to sing in front of people." My voice was closer to my feelings than the cello. I didn't want to be vulnerable like that.

"Would you like to take Joseph Buquet's place, then?" I frowned.

"You're so unfair!" I screamed. I had snapped. Back in my world, I usually let people have their way, thinking only of philosophical business.

But a true philosopher is not an accepting person.

"Why do you always have to have your way? Do you think only your will counts? Is disobeying you a reason to die?" I faced him, trying not to flinch at his blazing golden eyes. _Fight me_, my eyes said.

"Yes, it is," he said, gritting his teeth. "And I _can _kill you, Mademoiselle. Don't you dare to doubt that."

A lot of things appeared in my mind.

_A boy with dark brown hair and dark eyes, of whom I had thought had been innocent. Pushing me, trying to get what I wasn't willing to give to him. Scratches, gasps for air, a blurring vision. Was I going to die, because of this? _

I looked at the Phantom. Was he the same as that boy, or even worse? He looked so angry, so maniacal. But was he really? I thought of the rope around my neck. But also of the disappearance of its pressure.

"I am only to sing a small role?" He frowned.

"Were you expecting the lead? There I must disappoint you."

"Alright then. I'll sing." God, was I having mood swings lately.

"Not that you had any choice to begin with," the Phantom said stubbornly, but not entirely unsurprised at my change of heart.

"Well, I could've chosen death instead," I added dryly.

* * *

The following hours had been those of vocal exercises. Next, we had practiced my actual part in Don Juan Triumphant.

_Here the sire may serve the dam, here the master takes his meat! here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat_

The piece was all about sinister, depressing stuff. It was hard to keep track on everything that would be sung. The fun had really begun when Monsieur, with his low voice, began to sing Carlotta's part, as to give me an idea what I would accompany my voice.

Other than that, it was ridiculously funny how much effort he put into sounding just like Carlotta. I choked on my words about masters and all that stuff. The Phantom had thrown some angry words at my direction, but in the end had understood he couldn't really blame me for it.

After the training session, Monsieur retreated to his coffin – I would never get used to it- and I to the swan bed.

While trying to sleep, I thought of home. Of Simon and Cate, of my mother and father, and of Christine, lost in the modern times. I really had to get back. That thought made me want to try and look again for an exit so badly, I couldn't sleep anymore. I was behaving so mentally instable today.

I knew I couldn't go looking for an exit now, it would raise Monsieur's suspicion. But the new-found energy wouldn't allow me to do nothing. So I decided to do the only thing that came to mind.

"Monsieur Destler?"

I heard a groan of frustration.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking of right now?" A sigh. He probably was thinking of Phantom things.

"Why do you wish to know?" I shrugged underneath the blanket, even though he couldn't see it.

"I can't sleep." A silence.

"Neither can I." The honesty of his reply startled me.

"How come?" A sigh again.

"That is none of your business. Is there anything in particular you wish to ask me?" I thought, going through my previous thoughts.

"Do you think I am mad?"

"Yes," he said immediately. Bastard. I quickly tried to come up with something else to say, before he would fall asleep and leave me alone in the darkness of my own mind.

"Do you like mad people?" I improvised.

"Not usually, because I am in the constant presence of one." I frowned. But the following thing he said, was only to be explained by the fact he was getting tired.

"I meant myself, not you."

"So you don't think I am mad?"

"I do, but in comparison to my own, your madness is nothing." I thought of my anger earlier this day, because I had been given a role in an opera some people would have died for. I wasn't certain he was right. I was pretty fucked up.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." I could practically hear him raise his eyebrow.

"And why would I not be? I have done many atrocious things in my life, mademoiselle."

"What makes people do atrocious things, are the atrocious events they witnessed themselves," I said darkly.

"Am I to believe you have witnessed such an event?" I frowned , covered by the darkness of the lair.

"You don't need to believe anything, but I have." A cruel laugh echoed through the cellars of the opera.

"Have you ruined your prettiest dress once? Did your pet die? Did your sibling perhaps tear your favourite book to pieces?" It annoyed me how mockingly he spoke. Was he supposed to be the only one to have experienced awful things? Did he have no regard for anyone else's misery? I shook my head. What did I expect.

"None of those happened to me. Thankfully. I would have thrown a fit if Simon would ever dare to do something like that."

"Then, I suppose, you have nothing to complain about." I sighed.

"Not anymore no. Despite living with a person who only takes his own matters seriously. I still have pretty scary dreams sometimes, but they are a lot less frequent than they used to be. Oh, and I hate it when people force me to do something."

"You are not alone in that." I scoffed.

"You're usually the person that forces people." He cackled.

"That is very true."

"No need to be all smug about it."

"Why am I even speaking to you again?"

"Because you can't sleep." He sighed.

"Then tell me about your 'atrocious event', perhaps it will put me in such a good mood I will be able to sleep once more." Of course he would. 'The atrocious event of Rosalie Fovel', his new favourite bed-time story.

I made sure to tell him in terms that would sound old-fashioned. Which was harder than it seemed, for it had happened in the modern world.

"When I was a few years younger than I am now, a boy was… courting me." The Phantom of the opera made a disapproving sound. I wasn't sure why. Maybe he believed that every person who would voluntarily date me was a lunatic.

"He was very handsome," a loud, frustrated groan, probably at my supposedly feminine ignorance, " he looked like the perfect fairy tale prince. He seemed like an innocent guy. At least, that was what I believed at the time. The truth is, I didn't pay much attention at my surroundings, choosing to see only what I wanted to see. Without a sensible thought." Monsieur now remained silent.

"One day, we were alone at my house. I was happy, for I got to be alone with him. I didn't have to share him with anyone else. He was popular, that gentleman, so we rarely got to be alone. We hadn't been seeing each other for a long time yet, so it was exciting for me to be together at my house. I tried to show interest in him, asked him some questions – although very unlike the questions I ask now- when he made me shut up."

"I would have done the same," Monsieur said. I shook my head, but he of course was still unable to see it.

"Not by telling me to stop talking. He kissed me. Which on its own isn't so bad, but he did it out of the blue, and it was so intense it hurt. He continued to do so for quite some time. Later on, it got worse. He touched me, of course. And he tried to force himself on me. Luckily, my friend came just in time to see what he was doing. She couldn't get in the house but she started banging the windows, which startled him. He let go and ordered me to open the back door, which I did, glad to see him leave."

I didn't know why I was telling him about this. There was no need to tear open old wounds. Yet, I had been reminded of it today. Which had filled me with a need to talk about it to someone. Ironically, together with the same person who had reminded me of the whole ordeal.

"I didn't think about anything. I lived with a fog around my mind. After this event I decided to always contemplate things. It was back then when my interest in philosophy sparked."

A long silence followed, and I was convinced that Monsieur had fallen asleep. Pleased by the story out my unfortunate ordeal. I noticed my hands were trembling. I touched my cheeks. They were wet.

At least one of us had had fun this night, huh.

"Men who take advantage of innocent women are the worst." I was even more startled by the fact he hadn't fallen asleep yet than by the notion he had made which was so out of character for him.

"If I will ever find this insolent man, I will kill him," he said bitterly.

"What?"


End file.
